


Against All Odds

by actionpackedlips



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 19:27:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/969431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actionpackedlips/pseuds/actionpackedlips
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian leaves for the army and forgets that Fiona may not be okay with that. </p><p>Once back in Chicago Ian realizes being back is the last thing he wants, but this time he's going to leave the right way. With his mindset on leaving the past in the past, Ian embarks to live his life where he can finally find happiness, away from the one place that harbors his worst (and sometimes, best) memories.</p><p>Ian never expected Mickey, the one thing he tried leaving behind, to be the one to seek him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first story in years. Yes, years. Long time lurker, though. 
> 
> This has only been beta'd and re-read a dozen and one times by me, so if you catch anything it's on me. This also may switch tenses, 'cause those are always a bitch. If you do see anything feel free to leave it in the comments.
> 
> I'll be posting chapters weekly, as I have most of the story written out but not quite finished yet. I was going to wait until I was 100% done, but I figured the encouragement of knowing people like it may make my fingers type faster. Who knows.
> 
> So if you enjoy please let me know, and happy reading!!
> 
> My tumblr, I'll post updates and excerpts here: actionpackedlips.tumblr.com

Looking back at his decision to leave, Ian could admit he hadn’t taken the time to consider the consequences. He’d known a guy who knew a guy who made fake ID’s, and with 50 bucks and quick handjob thrown in he’d obtained it quickly. He knew all of Lip’s information, so even if he wasn’t particularly good at lying (though he was starting to believe the opposite, for all the times he’d come home bruised, crying and beaten with no one seeming to ask him for an explanation other than a quick “ROTC”) he knew he’d be able to fake his way in. He hadn’t wondered what would happen if he got caught, he hadn’t wonder what Fiona’s reaction would be once she found out, he certainly hadn’t consider anything other than the bright burning need to leave Southside.

For the most part it hadn’t been a hard decision. Ian was good at rationalizing things, and he’d figured one less mouth to feed could only help Fiona. Once he started getting paid he could even send some money back to help her. It only seemed a plus that he’d leave the one place that started to become his own hell. Southside had started closing in on him, and he’d just left.

He didn’t want to linger on how maybe he got more than just looks from Monica.

A month and a handful of days into being called Gallagher without flinching, even though the use of his last name only reminded him of who he’d left behind, and he was taken from daily training by the Corporal who runs his division.

Ian tried to keep his face neutral, but the sweat dripping down his forehead wasn’t just from the workout he’d been pulled from. He thought of a lot of things in the short walk to the outer buildings that held the major offices. He thought of being pulled out and what that meant, he thought of being berated in front of his whole platoon, he thought of home, of Debbie, Carl and Liam, hoping no one was hurt, and finally he thought of Mickey. Although that last one was irrelevant. There was no way Mickey would know where he was, no way he’d even call up for a chit chat- to what? Ask Ian to come back?

“You have a phone call,” he said curtly, “take as long as you need, the woman on the phone sounded… _distressed_ to say the least.” Ian winced. So much for thinking maybe he’d been brought over for praise, or a promotion.

Ian was directed into a small side office, with a small desk and an overgrown fern plant. The Corporal closed the door and made a point of standing outside in front of the office window. The blinds gave the illusion of privacy. Ian knew otherwise.

Ian took a deep breath before picking up the phone lying next to the receiver.

“Uh- Hello?” There could be something said for the anticipation of hearing who’s on the other side of a phone when you have no idea who it was. Even if Ian had a firm suspicion of just who could be calling.

“ _Ian Clayton Gallagher.”_

The noise Ian made was so close to being a whimper, he hoped the Corporal outside hadn’t heard him.

“I swear to God, Ian, _to God_ , are you trying to kill me young?” Fiona’s voice was nothing he’d ever heard before. Exasperation, and fury, all clipped and sharp he was afraid it would cut him over the phone. He hadn’t even heard her talk to _Frank_ this way.

“I-“

 “What in the _world_ made you think enlisting would solve any of your fucking problems?! You are so much smarter than this, you were in ROTC, you were studying with Lip, you worked-“ Ian heard a murmur in the background, a voice that could only be Lip. Ian closed his eyes. Lip. He hoped he wasn’t too pissed he stole his identity.

“Yeah. Yeah, your right, Lip,” he heard her sigh, a sigh so ragged and broken the guilt stabbed straight through him. He prided himself on being the one out of all of them that bothered her the least. He loved Fiona, and he knew he could come to her for anything, but he also knew she had so much other shit to deal with, and being the _reliable one_ to her was much more satisfying than having her as a confidant.

“You’re still underage Ian, and that means I take care of you. I’ve always been supportive of your dreams of West Point, of the Army, but I can’t support this. I can’t have you out there, under another goddamn name, training to get yourself killed when you haven’t even finished school. I may have tons of jobs, Ian, but I only have _one_ that’s fucking important. And it’s getting _you_ through school, safe and sound,” Ian swallowed his protest, letting her end her rant without any interruptions. She deserved this.

“Fiona,” he said uncertainly, afraid she’d start ranting again, “I’m sorry. I should have let you know, but then that would have been for nothing ‘cause we both know you wouldn’t have let me walk out the door.”

“Damn right I wouldn’t have!” Her voice pierced his ear but he only pressed the phone closer.

“I can’t leave, Fi. You think once they find out I,” he lowered his voice and threw a look over his shoulder towards the window, “faked my identification to get into the army that they’ll ever let me back in?”

“Ian, I can’t have you using Lip’s ID to stay. I can’t let you stay in the army, period! For fucks sake, you aren’t even legal yet!” She sounded shrill, as if her arms were waving and her eyes were ablaze with fury. Ian could just imagine her, cellphone in hand, pacing around the kitchen giving Lip “ _is he fucking serious!?”_ looks. An ache close to homesickness formed in his heart.

“I don’t want to come back to Southside,” his voice was firm, because if she was going to bring him back fuck if he wasn’t going to make it with all the fight he had.

She sighed again. Less exasperated, more resigned, yet not any less pissed.

Silence stretched for a couple seconds before, “Ian. Look. I know some shit has happened that I haven’t been paying attention to. I understand it probably hurts to come back, but I’m not leaving you in the fucking army. I love you and I’m doing this _for_ you.”

His hand slid down the phone, the office was cooled by AC but he couldn’t stop sweating. The thought of returning to Southside made his heart rate pick up. There was nothing worse than defeat, but feeling it with every step he took? Was he ever going to catch a fucking break?

“Do what you have to do, Fiona. There’s really nothing I can say, since I know you and I know this probably means my time here is done,” his time in the army _ever_ was done. He really fucked things up with this one.

“Ian. I’ll talk to them, okay? We’ll figure this out, but together this time, yeah?” She sounded sad now, and that hurt worse than her anger.

His eyes started stinging, but he wasn’t sure if it was from the tears or the sweat dripping into his eyes.

“Y-yeah, okay,” he choked out, and set the phone on the desk lightly. He let himself have a second to compose himself before he opened the door, making his way outside. He stopped beside the Corporal, standing at ease.

His gaze flitted over Ian, making him itch, “The lady on the phone, she wants to talk to you, sir.”

The corporal nodded, confusion making its way into his eyes but not on his face.

He heard the door close with a soft _snick,_ and while he couldn’t hear words, he could hear the faint murmuring of the Corporal responding back.

Ian’s gaze dropped to the gray carpeting, he realized that now he really had no other back up plans. He had no other dreams, or goals. The army had always been his way out, his ticket to freedom, something he’d hoped he could excel in.

Without that, Ian really didn’t know where he belonged anymore.

+++

Hopping off the same grey bus back in Southside felt like the worst kind of full circle. There wasn’t a group of Gallagher’s waiting for him with signs or smiles, there was just Fiona. He wanted to be grateful she was here to see him back, but he would rather have done the walk of shame by himself.

The first thing she did was smack him in the arm. It stung, but probably not as worse as how she felt when she thought he was missing.

The second thing she did was pull him close and hug him. He melted into it, missing his sister, his family, the contact. He could probably count the times Frank _and_ Monica had hugged him on one hand, but something Fiona had always been was receptive. She knew when to wipe a tear; she knew when to give a hug. If he had to be honest, the reason she probably hadn’t figured out he needed any of that himself was because he’d been so secretive when he started all that shit with Mickey. Fiona use to always be the first one to know something was up, and if it wasn’t her, it sure as hell was Lip.

“Don’t you ever fucking do that to me again,” she whispered fiercely.

Ian squeezed her back, “I won’t. I promise.” He thinks he might be able to keep it this time around.

She released him and swiped quickly at her face, Gallagher’s didn’t tend to make their feelings public, and standing on the curb, bus already pulled away, was pretty damn public.

“Uh, Lip had somewhere to go this morning, Carl is out with a friend, and Debs wasn’t feeling well, she’s at home with Liam.” Her voice sounded apologetic, like maybe only her showing up wasn’t enough.

 “That’s fine, I could have walked home myself,” and he could have, probably would have preferred that, but it meant a lot to him that Fiona pushed everything she could have been doing this morning aside to stand waiting for some runaway at a bus stop corner.

They started the walk back, Fiona never letting her gaze slip off him for long. He nudged his duffle higher up on his shoulder, feeling the weight of her stare.

She shrugged a shoulder, leaning into his side, “To be honest? I didn’t exactly put it past you to run again.”

He chuckled, and knocked back with his shoulder. It felt nice, just him and Fiona, but the feeling of dread felt like sunken lead in his stomach. He still had to face so many more people.

He purposefully left Mickey’s name fall out of his thoughts. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to face him, wouldn’t have to see him with his new wife, his new life. Ian wondered if Svetlana was showing-

He shook his head, _no, let’s not think about that._

He fucking hated Southside.

+++

It wasn’t hard resuming life in the Gallagher house. Debbie hugged him tight around the middle, sniffling about him leaving them behind. Carl hugged him briefly, too, but followed it up by asking if he saw anyone get blown up.

“No, but they did demonstrate how to detonate grenades.” He could still remember the feeling of his hands shaking as he slipped the pin out and threw as far as his arm had ever allowed before.

“Awesome,” he replied, impressed, before slipping off to play with a blowtorch, or whatever Carl did when no one was looking.

Liam laughed and made the noise he associated with his name, before promptly needing a diaper change.

Lip was the hardest. Not only was Ian not emotionally prepared to face him, he was pretty sure it might involve fists. Fiona hadn’t given him the whole lowdown, but apparently stealing Lip’s identity caused problems with MIT. Go figure.

Fiona was folding laundry in the kitchen, Ian sitting on the couch watching a movie with Debbie, when Lip slipped in the kitchen door and headed up the steps.

Ian turned his head at the sound of the steps creaking, seeing the back of Lip disappear upstairs. Fiona gave Ian a pointed look, and with a sigh he lifted himself off the couch and made his way up the living room staircase. He stopped to lean against the doorway as he watched Lip change his clothes, slipping into something comfier, and less sweat stained.

“Look, Lip, I’m sorry for what I did,” _like a bandaid, just get it over with_ , he thought. Start with the apology, and then see where it leads.

Lip whipped around, “you know, I can say I understand except I really fucking _don’t_.” He didn’t sound angry like Fiona had on the phone, but all these years being Lip’s best friend honed his Lip-reading skills to top notch.

Lip was _pissed._

“I just wanted to get away, and graduation just seemed…pointless, when I could enlist right away.”

Lip straightened up, “yeah? Except you couldn’t enlist, could you? So you go fucking faking your way in, using _my_ ID and ruining your chances of West Point,” he narrowed his eyes at Ian, “I can’t say I’m that upset about that anyway. Less chances of getting blown up if you aren’t allowed back in.”

Ian blew out a sharp breath, but kept his cool. He knew he was the cause of all their anger, he knew he deserved their stingy words. He couldn’t justify skipping town on the fact he was _heartbroken_ , when clearly he’d just broken all their hearts in turn.

“I wasn’t ever going to make West Point anyway,” he resigned, glancing down at his shoes. He was still wearing his boots from camp, even though the rest of his uniform had been handed in.

Lip sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face, before making his way over to Ian’s bed and pulling out a tin from the bedside drawer. A few seconds later Ian saw the familiar color of his favorite lighter, and a fresh rolled joint. Lip inclined his head, and with a small smile Ian made his way over to sit beside him.

“Why does every important conversation we have begin and end with getting high?” Ian questioned, watching Lip cup his hand and light the end. Lip took an inhale, passing Ian the joint before exhaling.

“I doubt I’d have made it through half our conversations if I was sober,” he glanced sideways at Ian, “you know, you could have told me you how much you wanted to leave. As if I wouldn’t understand how shitty it is being here in Southside.”

Ian let a puff of smoke escape his lips, holding the joint in his hands, “No, it wasn’t about anyone else. It was about me. I really am sorry I took your ID, Lip. I never wanted to fuck MIT up for you.”

Lip shook his head, grabbing the joint from Ian, “I’m not sure I’m going. I’m guaranteed the scholarship no matter how long it takes me to decide. Why not keep the fuckers on their toes?” He chuckled.

He bit back a wave of jealousy. Lip had the fucking smarts, he had the way out, and he never wanted to take any of it. Fuck, he even had an in to West Point if he wanted. Lip had every chance Ian had ever hoped for to get out of this place, and he completely let them fly by him.

“Just fucking go, Lip. I tried getting where I wanted to go, I failed. You got this chance legitimately, don’t fuck that up.”

Lip was quiet for a second before laughing, “What, you get your dream crushed, and now what? You’re a tortured soul handing out wise advice?”

Ian snatched the joint back a bit too forcefully, “Fuck you,” he replied, but the heat wasn’t in it.

Lip sobered up, “What’s that saying, ‘when one door closes another one opens’. Don’t think you ain’t going anywhere, Ian. You just gotta figure out what you want to do. And don’t go stealing my name when you find out what it is.”

Ian could only laugh as Lip smacked him on the back of the head. It felt more like forgiveness than anything else.

+++

Ian wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. You didn’t come back to Southside and expect new beginnings. It had a habit of picking up right where you left off, whether you were gone a month or years. It was always going to put that same bad taste in your mouth.

So maybe Ian had accidently forgot about Mandy. Or, well, accidently on purpose forgot about Mandy. Mandy was his best friend, but she was also Mickey’s sister, and the last thing Ian wanted was running into him. If Southside wasn’t going to change, Ian was, and he didn’t want to fall into whatever allure Mickey had. Ian snorted, _fuck, I’m really fucked in the head if I just put Mickey and allure in the same sentence._

Mandy had been at the Kash and Grab when Ian had wondered in to inquiry about his old job, unbeknownst to him. Maybe Ian wanted to change, but hell if he was going to find anything better than what Linda had been paying him, and he practically got away with free food on a daily basis. He could handle it until he figured out his next move.

The first thing Mandy did was smack him. Right across the face. As if she didn’t know he was leaving for the army!

“What the fuck, Mandy!” He cried, cupping his cheek. It felt like everything he’d wanted his family to do to him when he got home. Slap him, hit him, because he felt worthless for making them feel abandoned for _absolutely no reason_. He hadn’t succeeded in being in the army, he hadn’t stayed and earned his rank, he hadn’t made money to send home. He felt like he put himself, and them, through a fiery hoop for nothing. “You knew I was leaving!”

“ _That’s_ for not telling me you were back!” She glared at him, then landed another smack lower, thankfully, on his shoulder, “and that’s for not telling me about screwing my brother!” He flinched, looking around the store, and shushed her quickly. He didn’t need to come back to Southside only to be murder a few days in.

She rolled her eyes, “No one’s even here, Linda went in the back to find some Bar-B-Que Pringles, you guys were out. And fuck you, just- fuck you Ian Gallagher!” She shoved him, only to pull him right into a hug. Ian hadn’t had this many hugs in his _life._

“I’m sorry, Mandy. That I left, if I worried you, and I’m sorry for keeping you out of the loop.” He breathed in the smell of her apple scented hair and for the first time he felt like maybe things could be okay again.

He felt horrible. He really had just left without any explanations. They hadn’t gotten a chance to talk about anything- _everything_ \- before he’d told her he was leaving. By then she’d just been upset and teary-eyed, wanting to spend their last days together in easy friendship. He didn’t know how to talk about it, anyway, if he’d wanted to.

“Found a case, but I think the expiration date is funny, I’ll sell them too you half-“ Linda froze, eyebrows raising as she held out a cardboard box filled with chips.

They stepped out of their embrace and Ian smiled sheepishly at Linda, “I hope you didn’t find yourself another Cashier.”

Linda scoffed, breezing past them to go behind the counter. She pulled a tube of chips out and rang it up.

“No, because for some reason every time someone works here they go disappearing.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you-” he began, only to be interrupted by her hand held up.

“Stop. I’m done with excuses since Kash left. I don’t care why you left, I don’t care why you’re back. If you want your job back you start your regular hours tomorrow, okay?” When he nodded his assent, she turned to Mandy, “These chips may be outdated, I’ll sell them to you half price so don’t go suing me if you get sick.”

Many handed over a few bucks in change, and with a quick “thanks” thrown to Linda they were both out the door.

“Good thing it was Kash working when Mickey shoplifted, ‘cause if it was Linda he probably wouldn’t have survived,” she joked, but it fell flat, leaving him feeling cold inside. He knew she was going to segway into the topic of her brother, and he didn’t feel like talking about him right now.

 “Mickey’s-“

“Look Mandy, I know I owe you like a thousand explanations for why I didn’t tell you about us, but right now I kinda just wanna forget about it? I’m back in Southside, shit sucks, I just wanna…” he trailed off, feeling like he didn’t know what he wanted. What did he want? For it to be normal? What was normal? Sneaking off with Mickey, being vague with Mandy, watching his life spiral into a depressive pile of self loathing? No. He didn’t want to go back to his old ways.

The only sound in their silence was the swish of the plastic bag holding Mandy’s purchase.

“I get it,” she finally said, clasping her hand in his. Her cut off gloves gave off just the right touch of warmth in his own cold hand, “Wanna go sit under the El and watch the old homeless people slip on ice?”

For the first time since he’d been back, the bark of laughter that slipped out of him felt genuine.

“Yeah, I think that might make me feel better,” and if he pretended the bitter wind picking up was the cause of his prickly eyes and not the understanding squeeze of her hand in his, well, no one was really around to judge him for it.

+++

In total, he’d missed about two weeks of school. He’d managed to use up all of his holiday vacation and then some.

The Christmas tree was still up in the living room, making him feel like a terrible person every time he glanced at it. Fiona had traveled up to his bedroom a few days ago, handful of wrapped presents in hand.

“Here,” she said, handing them to him. He set down the homework he’d been assigned over break, and the pile he’d missed _after_ break, “these were still under the tree, I didn’t want Carl pawning them for cash. They’re yours, and even if you don’t feel you deserve them, I know you do.”

She sat down beside him. He sighed, glancing at the presents before setting them on the small dresser near his bed. Lip was out again, he hadn’t asked him where, so this left Fiona with the perfect opportunity to make her move. He wasn’t really prepared to talk about everything yet, but he supposed he never really would be.

“Go ahead, I know you want to ask, Fi.”

She shook her head, setting a hand on his thigh, “No, I don’t want to ask, Ian. I want you to tell me. I want you to _want_ to tell me.”

It felt weird. He’d kept so many things a secret for so long it felt wrong to talk about them now, but at the same time this was all he’d ever truly wanted. Someone to ask, someone to talk to, someone he could confide in. Lip was great, but he didn’t understand, and he was still hung up on the gay thing. It was hard to talk to someone who didn’t _really_ want to hear about it. And Mandy? She’d just been out of the question.

So he told her. He told her about how excited he had been getting the Kash and Grab job, how he’d already experimented with boys and was just understanding that yeah, maybe he was different, maybe he was gay. When he’d met Kash he’d always been so nice to him. Where Linda was authoritive and brash, Kash was sweet and informative. Ian hadn’t really tried to start anything with him, he’d known about Linda and the twins. He didn’t think of it as an option, but Kash had always been asking him about school, and ROTC, and he liked Kash. Really liked him. He couldn’t really remember how they’d started it, he was pretty sure Kash kissed him first, and after that they just kept sneaking around.

Fiona kept her gaze to the floor, taking it all in, but the weight of her hand on his thigh grounded him.

He continued to tell her about that night with Mandy, and the accused “rape”, when really it had been the opposite way around. How Mickey had put a death sentence on his head, and when he’d gone to confront him they’d fought; a fight that turned into something more. He talked about how he hadn’t ever expected the thing with Mickey to last as long as it did and how Mickey just kept reeling him in, even when he went away to Juvie all those times.

He paused, and Fiona moved to lay her hand across his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Telling her about the last few months of Mickey and his…what? Relationship? Fling? That was going to be hard. No matter what anyone else saw in Mickey, no matter what he did to Ian, Ian knew deep down Mickey did really love him. While away at training he’d realized that maybe it wasn’t enough, but he knew Mickey had cared about him in his own fucked up way, even if it wouldn’t ever make him be the person Ian wanted him to be.

So with a breath, he finished up the story and told her all about that too; about Juvie, frank finding out, Mickey and him spending time together because he was in the halfway house. He tried to rush over Terry beating them up but of course she interrupted,

“Terry Milkovich was the one who did that to your face!? Ian, I can’t believe you kept that from me!” She sounded hurt, and pissed, but probably more so at Terry than him.

“It doesn’t matter now. Terry made Mickey have sex with some whore to “fuck the fag” out of him, and now she’s pregnant, and that’s why Mickey got married.”

Fiona’s hand slid from his shoulder, “So that’s why he got hitched. I never really thought of Mickey Milkovich as a _settle down_ kind of guy.”

Ian shrugged, already done with the conversation and not really wanting to talk about it further.

“I guess not.”

Fiona looked at him sympathetically, “Why do us Gallagher’s fall for the ones that fuck us up the most?”

He chuckled, “It’s probably in our DNA. I mean look at our parents, absolutely terrible for each other.”

Silently, she agreed.

“Ian, look. I don’t care what happens between you and _anybody_ anymore. If you have a problem I want you to know you can talk to me about it. There’s no use having this many people in this house if you can’t talk to even one of them.”

“I know,” he replied, and he did. He knew he could talk to Fiona and Lip. It hadn’t really been about them, it had been about him always wanting to figure things out himself. It had been about Mickey and his secrecy. It was about never wanting to be the one to start problems.

She squeezed the back of his neck, making him glance up at her, “I also want to make you a promise. I promise to pay closer attention to when you need me, even if you don’t make it obvious. You’re a good kid, Ian. I want you to believe that.”

He looked down at his clasped hands. He knew he was a good person, but feeling that and knowing that were too different things.

“I do.”

 “Good,” she slapped her hands on her knees before lifting off the bed. She paused at the doorway, turning to look over her shoulder at Ian.

“Thanks for telling me. I may not understand a lot of your decisions, but I at least want you to share with me what goes on in your life, ok?”

He heard her yell, “DINNER IN TWENTY!” as she walked out of his room and descended the stairs.

He sighed and lay back on his bed. All this talk about Mickey left him feeling that itch under his skin again. He was back in Southside but that didn’t mean he had to start up bad habits. Mickey was married, and if it was one thing Ian had learned from past experiences was never to fuck with a married man.

He stood up and shut the door, turning the lock for a bit of privacy.

There was no harm in _thinking_ about a married man, though, right?

+++

“Come on, it was your first day back to school since you left. You’ve got all your shit done, let’s go celebrate with a bit of vodka, pizza rolls, and bad movies,” Mandy was walking backwards in front of Ian, clouds of puffy white breath escaped her mouth from the winter air. School had just let out.

“Mandy, I just really don’t want-“

“-to run into Mickey, I _know_. But he’s not even home! He’s been working some construction job since the time you’ve been gone, and let me tell you the fit he threw when you left was an epic one.”

That perked Ian’s interest some, “what?”

Mandy smirked, knowing she’d hooked him now, “Oh yeah, he left after you did, came back completely drunk off his ass and trashed his room. Apparently he told Lana he didn’t want her coming around no more, and that’s when she told him she’d had a miscarriage. He flipped _shit.”_

Ian almost froze mid-step, stumbling over his feet. _Whatever,_ he told himself, _it doesn’t matter she isn’t pregnant, he’s still married to her._

“Anyway, Mickey doesn’t get home from that job until late. He always goes out with his work buddies afterwards. He’s never home much anymore, so you’re safe for a few hours, please please please, Ian!”

He laughed at her puppy dog pout, “Alright, but only if I get to pick the movies this time. I don’t want to end up watching Kung Pow! Enter the Fist again for the thousandth time. Not enough booze could make that movie bearable!”

She shoved him, moving underneath his arm to walk side by side. “Shut up, it’s like a classic, _and_ it’s hilarious!”

“I don’t think anything in that movie could constitute the word _classic,”_ but he just pulled her closer as they resumed the walk to the Milkovich house.

+++

It wasn’t until a few weeks into his return that Ian saw him.

Since he’d been ‘unoffically’ grounded by Fiona, and he no longer was fooling around with anyone, it meant he had a lot of time to be bored on his hands. Mostly, he spent time with Mandy.

“Lip doesn’t really talk to me anymore, even though I got that fucker into MIT,” she admitted, settling down on the couch next to Ian with a bowl of buttery popcorn. Ian had wondered aloud why she was always free when he called up her, and she seemed to be in the same boat as he was. No other friends, no other fuck buddies, just a lot of time to sit and wallow in depressing thoughts.

“Uh, I think that has a lot to do about you fucking up Karen.” When he’d found out Mandy had been the one to run Karen over he had felt conflicted. He couldn’t agree with how the Milkovich’s handled their emotions, but she was his best friend. He didn’t agree with what she did, but to lose her now in the midst of all his own troubles? Lip hadn’t said anything to him, even though Ian knew he knew where he was most days. He figured Lip understood; even though Mandy did an unforgiveable crime, Ian still needed someone. It was hard to find friends in Southside who had a completely clean slate, to say the least.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s stop talking about that Jackson bitch,” thrusting the bowl into his lap harder than necessary. He grabbed a handful and shoved it in his mouth. Who was he to lecture people on running others over? Hell, if he had succeeded he’d be learning how to kill people with over a hundred different weapons by now.

He let his mind drift away from his stint in the army. It was a lost cause now, thanks to his own failure of a plan, and there was no amount of thinking or wishing that could take it back.

So, instead of running drills and shooting fire arms, he spent the night gorging on popcorn and soda, and taking an impromptu nap.

It was the sound of a heavy thump that woke him up. Ian had always been a light sleeper, something he could never understand seeing as he lived in a house filled with five other people. He’d figure his natural survival instinct would kick in to save him from sleep deprivation- it hadn’t.

He sat up, heart racing. Mandy’s head lolled back onto the couch cushions. Fuck, was Terry here? Mandy said he’d been caught violating his parole again, what with the small arsenal he had stashed in his kitchen, but maybe he’d been released. Or worse, escaped to come finish Ian off.

He slid further forward on the couch, shaking his head to clear his thoughts.

He forced himself to calm down. His sleepy daze was wearing off, and he realized it was probably one of Mandy’s brothers. Ian tossed the blanket off his legs, where it fell across Mandy’s sprawled body.

He made his way over to the hallway, by the front door. _If it’s one of Mandy’s brothers, then it could be-_

“Mickey?” Ian asked the heap by the door. He couldn’t make out who it was with the small amount of light in the house, but he could see the scarf Mickey loved to wear when it was cold out.

“mmm-fuck off,” the pile grumbled, shifting to lie on its back.

Ian could see Mickey clearly now. He had glossy eyes, his mouth was open letting short sporadic breaths escape, and he had a cut across the top of his left eyebrow.

“Fuck Mickey, you’re bleeding,” Ian leaned over Mickey’s body, but Mickey’s eyes were focused on the ceiling. His pupils were blown wide, his eyes looked inky black.

Ian’s hands made contact with Mickey’s face, but they were met by fighting hands.

“I said,” Mickey slurred, still not focusing on Ian hovering above him, “fuck off.”

The force of Mickey’s hands slapping away his forearms ‘caused him to fall from his crouched position. He landed on his ass with a soft thud while Mickey let his arms fall to his sides, eyes closing shut.

Ian huffed, picking himself up to hover above the snoozing boy below him. He was done with this wasn’t he? He was done taking Mickey’s bullshit, always being the one to pick up the pieces; the pieces that tended to be his very own.

But looking down at Mickey’s face, creased in discomfort even as he dosed, Ian could only feel for him. Every time he saw Mickey’s face he saw him jumping on Terry’s back, or his dead eyes as Svetlana was ordered to fuck him. No one was there to pick Mickey up when he fell, and he certainly looked like he couldn’t do it himself right now.

Ian sighed, pushing away everything that told him to turn away, and heaved Mickey up under the arm pits. _I don’t need to be the one doing this, but if it isn’t me, who’s it going to be?_

“-wha’s going on?” Mickey could barely hold himself up, feet sliding on the floor and Ian wondered how he made it home. Did he walk? Did someone drive him?

“Up and at ‘em, Mick,” he supported Mickey’s weight on the short shuffle to his room, and not for the first time did Ian thank all his training for making him bulk up. He hadn’t been lying to Lip all that time ago when he said the only thing he could pass was the physical training.

He nudged Mickey’s door open with his foot, guiding him over to the bed and letting him fall backwards. He wasn’t exactly sure what Mickey was on, he seemed more than just drunk but it could have been a combination of shit where Mickey was concerned.

“What did you take Mickey?” He asked, not expecting an answer. He said it mostly to keep the silence from making him feel weird about taking care of someone who always seemed to write him off. If Mickey was sober he’d probably be calling him a fag right now.

He shoved Mickey on his side a little too forcefully. _There, if he pukes he won’t choke to death._

He didn’t bother taking Mickey’s shoes off or helping him undress like the movies always show. _Fuck that, I’ve done enough._

He turned to leave, feeling a pang of something he wasn’t sure of.

A small wheeze from the bed made Ian turn back around. He damned himself for caring so much, but he didn’t _actually_ want anything to happen to Mickey.

“Thanks, Gallagher,” Mickey mumbled, eyes still shut and head buried in an off white pillow.

Ian swallowed back a reply and continued on his way out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second part of Against All Odds, hope you all are enjoying it so far!
> 
> Thanks for anyone who dropped kudos or even left a comment, it is really great motivation. Thank you for your support! 
> 
> Again, only been scanned over by me a billion times, so any mistakes are my own. If you see anything feel free to let me know.

For the first time in a long time Ian could say time passed quite uneventfully. With no boyfriends- or well, fuck buddies to run off to see left Ian with a lot of time to spend at home with his family. He’d probably never played as many videos games with Carl as he did now, and he’d never helped Debbie with her language class as much in all the time she’d been in school. Lip was still missing in action most of the time, but Ian had a hunch that he was either making up with Mandy, found an illegal activity to involve himself with, or a new girl to screw. Ian wasn’t as hurt as he probably should have been that Lip wasn’t as willing to involve him in his plans. Ian was enjoying the down time.

There were no cousins stealing their home, no grandmas invading with ideas of methlabs, there wasn’t even Frank passed out in the living room. He was pretty sure the fact he hadn’t seen Frank in the few months since he’d been back by now was worrying, but Fiona assured them (mostly Debbie and Carl) that he was working on keeping himself alive and out of the bottle. He found it funny that at a time where Frank should want and need his family the most was the time he’d push them all away.

If Ian were to be honest, he couldn’t say he was happy, but he couldn’t say he was as messed up as he was when he enlisted to the army. He caught up on missed dinners with his family, helped Kevin out with things when he needed him, and generally enjoyed the fact his life was drama free for once. If there was a dull throbbing ache whenever he thought about the other times, the times when it wasn’t _all_ bad, he ignored it. The pull he felt towards Mickey only ever brought trouble, and as long as they were both in Southside there was no way they could be together.

But, as being a Gallagher goes, the minute you think things have settled and you could enjoy your regular problems of being poor and sometimes not having enough hot water for a shower, life threw you a curve ball. He should have expected it, because even though his real father seemed to be living a perfect life in a nice neighborhood, Frank and Monica had still raised him and he’d probably gotten enough of their karma rubbed off onto him to last a lifetime.

So, when Ian thought his life was finally going along fine, it had to go and throw him several steps back.

It started with the annual Southside St. Patrick’s Day drunkfest. Half the residents of Southside probably weren’t even Irish, if they even knew what kind of descendents they came from, but let it be known that their neighborhood had never let a holiday pass without some sort of celebration.

The day had gone well, it was fun watching Debbie and Carl toss eggs back and forth, and do the potato sack races. He competed with Lip in the two legged race, which hadn’t been much of a disaster until Lip tried to speed up and Ian ended up tripping, taking Lip down with him. They would have come in first, but collapsing on the ground and unable to get up from their shaking laughter, they’d ended up last.

It wasn’t until it started to get dark that Ian even spotted him. It was that nice time of night where it was just light enough yet but the heat of the sun was gone, night quickly approaching. Several drunk guys were setting up fireworks next to a table, and directly behind them was Mickey. Flirting with some tramp in a skirt that could have substituted as a loin cloth. She barely looked sixteen, and a roll of nausea went through Ian’s stomach. It may have been disgust, but it could have been from the green beer he’d started drinking a while back.

He wanted to ignore them, he wanted to look away and join everyone in setting up blankets to sit down on, but he couldn’t. All he could do was stare straight ahead; at the way Mickey tilted his head up because she was wearing fucking high heels, of all things, to a fucking lawn party.  The way she giggled and how he smirked. All he could see was a lie, whether it was Mickey’s or his own he wasn’t sure.

Maybe he got the feeling someone was looking at them, or maybe he was purposefully trying to fuck Ian’s life up again, but something made Mickey look up and they locked eyes. She whispered something in his ear, but he kept staring at Ian even when he replied. _Look away, dammit_ , Ian thought furiously. He didn’t know if he was directing that at himself, or Mickey.

Ian narrowed his eyes. He was tired of always being the one to take Mickey’s shit, to be the one to back down and crawl back. If Mickey wanted to flaunt his jailbait catch in front of him, in front of everyone, let him. Ian smiled, a fake smile but a smile none-the-less, and raised his glass to Mickey. He swallowed the last of his green concoction, and without seeing the reaction on the other boy’s face, turned to leave.

“Woah,” Kevin said, grabbing Ian around the shoulders to stop them from colliding. “Where ya going so fast? Fiona’s been looking for you. I told her if I saw you I’d send you her way.”

Ian shrugged off Kevin’s hands, “Sorry. Uh, I’ll try to find her. I think I’m going to leave soon, so if you see her before I do tell her that green beer wasn’t sitting so well.”

Kevin laughed, “Dude, that shit got me last year. I don’t know what Old Man Janks does to it, but that shit will fuck you up.”

Ian chuckled, waving to Kevin as he walked backwards, “Probably makes it in his bathtub,” he told him, and with Kevin’s crack of laughter, tossed a quick ”Cya, Kevin,” before turning to leave.

 Kevin nodded in farewell, and continued to make his way over to the fireworks.

Ian walked away from the party, not really wanting to see anyone right now. He felt stupid for letting Mickey keep taking over his thoughts, but as ridiculous as it seemed Ian really had saw something in Mickey that made him keep making the same mistakes over and over again.

Mickey wasn’t nice, he wasn’t romantic or sweet. Ian knew enough from Mandy to know why Mickey was the way he was, even if Mickey rarely volunteered any information himself. Their mom died of a drug overdose when they were young leaving only their hard-shelled dick of a father to raise them. And even though Mickey wasn’t the oldest, he acted like it. He went on runs with his Dad to spare his other brothers, he took the fall for everyone if someone was in trouble, and he was the one to make it his problem if someone was causing trouble with his family. He’d been hardened by the household he grew up in, repressed and molded until he was the Mickey he was today.

Ian had no illusions anymore of being able to change someone if they certainly didn’t want to. He was pretty sure it wasn’t possible, in any case.

Ian shoved his hands in his pockets, hunching over. It was starting to turn fully dark now, and the cold March weather was no match for his thin long sleeved Henley.

Maybe he saw potential in Mickey, after all those times they fucked. Even though their relationship was a secret, he’d still wanted one with the other boy. He saw loyalty, smarts, and Mickey was one funny motherfucker. He’d spent so many afternoons in the Kash and Grab just listening to Mickey comment on all the trashy Mags he read, Ian couldn’t count how many times he’d almost pissed himself laughing.

For all Mickey would deny it, he also expressed emotion like no one Ian had ever met before. When Mickey was happy, he was _happy_ , and when he was pissed he’d show it. He didn’t hide his emotions, for all that he hid his sexuality, and Ian found that refreshing. Even though he’d been on the wrong side of Mickey’s anger, he’d still experienced more than just that. He’d felt his anger, his pain, he’d felt his passion and his strength. The kiss they’d shared before his wedding was probably the most enthusiastic he’d ever felt Mickey, as if Mickey hadn’t been holding anything back. He’d _wanted_ Ian, and he’d taken him.

It was hard to find people who you could practically _feel_ what they’re feeling, but with Mickey Ian could. He could tell just by proximate that Mickey had had a bad day, or if he’d had an extremely successful deal take place. He could tell when Mickey walked into the store in a good mood, like it extended onto Ian himself.  Southside, Ian surmised, would end up ruining that part of Mickey. It was the type of place that did.

He’d barely made it a few blocks before he heard footsteps behind him. Even without ROTC training, he’d still grown up in Southside. He’d had his senses honed through the years, you couldn’t wonder alone in their neighborhood without it.

He ducked into a back road that branched off into everyone’s backyards and driveways. It was small, but well lit, and it was a bit of a short cut anyway.

He continued walking before he heard a familiar throat being cleared. He paused midstep, squeezing his eyes shut and wondering if he was, yet again, making the wrong decision.

He turned around.

“Hey, Firecrotch,” Mickey purred, stopped a few feet in front of Ian, cigarette burning lonely in his right hand.

Ian sighed tiredly, “What do you want, Mickey?”

Mickey smirked, “Oh what, you go away to the army for a little and suddenly you’re too good for Southside trash?” He took a pull from his cigarette, the smoke making pirouettes in the lamp light.

Ian rubbed a hand along his forehead; he could feel a headache forming in between his eyebrows.

He remained silent. He’d learned that if you left silence hang between them long enough Mickey would eventually be the one to fill it.

Mickey’s voice held more hostility as he stepped closer to Ian. “Why’d you even come back? You wanted in your precious army, you got it.”

Ian couldn’t help the bark of laughter that escaped, and it only made anger spike harder in Mickey’s eyes.

“You think I’d be back here if I didn’t have to be?” He wasn’t going to explain himself to Mickey, but fuck if he thought Southside was at all where Ian wanted to be.

Mickey took one last drag of the cigarette before flicking it away. A wicked look formed on his face, and Ian prepared himself. Nothing good came out of Mickey’s mouth when he looked like that.

“Whatcha do? I bet they found out you’re a fag,” he stepped closer, still, now barely a foot from Ian, “or better yet, I bet you fucked your _superior officer._ ” He sounded smug, like his cruel words were handpicked just to hit Ian where it hurt the most, “Never could keep it in your pants.”

Ian bristled, but he didn’t want to get himself riled up. He didn’t want any more verbal sparring matches with Mickey, he didn’t want any _real_ ones with him either.

“Mickey, I’m not doing this anymore,” he turned to leave but a tight grip on his bicep flung him right back into Mickey’s line of sight.

“Oh, so now it’s your turn to be done? You get to decide, you get to just forget-” He paused briefly, but quickly resumed talking, “fuck you, Gallagher, for all that you don’t like it, you sure are one hell of a pussy.”

He released Ian with a small shove, but Ian was seeing red.

He pushed Mickey backwards, and his back hit a chain link fence with a clash of metal.

“If you’re talking about that night when Terry found us, I haven’t forgotten. I _never_ forget, and I didn’t _leave you_. You got fucking _married_ and beat the shit out of me!” He was practically shouting, his voice carrying into the empty night, but this was everything he’d kept bottled up. While he was pleading for Mickey to tell him he loved him back, as he watched him get married, as he refused to tell Ian to stay when he left for the army. This was everything he _really_ wanted to say.

Mickey started to say something but Ian cut him off, voice quiet but anger filling his words with purpose, “For the past _three years_ I’ve let you run the show. I show up when you want me to show up, I fuck you when you want to be fucked, I ask you out to baseball games and you decline. I’ve kept it secret from everyone I loved, I’ve never mentioned the fact I had someone I wanted to see _for three years_ to anybody. I’ve gotten beat up by your father for being with you, and I’ve seen you raped because of it, too.

“I’ve gotten the shit kicked out of me _by you_ , and when I try to tell you how I feel you turn around and marry someone. When I tried to stop you, the only thing I got was some shitty excuse. I’ve _never_ been the one running scared from you Mickey, and I never will. But fuck if I’m going to repeat the last three years when all I want is something _real_.”

His chest was heaving by the time he was finished, and something in his heart felt lighter. He’d never said exactly what he wanted to Mickey, ever. He was always afraid of pushing him away, and how fucked up was that? He’d always been careful of _Mickey’s_ sensibilities and fuck if he didn’t have a lot of them.

Ian’s hands gripped the fence painfully, his hands on either side of Mickey’s ribs, encasing him in. He realized how close he’d gotten to the other boy in his anger, and the look on Mickey’s face told him he realized it too. It felt like all those years ago, tension and anger sparking between them, but instead of asking for the gun back he was telling him it was over. Ian wanted to think of a right word for what that meant, but he couldn’t. All he could think of was how Mickey’s mouth was hanging slightly open in disbelief, and how shiny they looked in the light illuminating from right above them.

Ian shook his head to clear his thoughts and started to pull back. What was he thinking? Any sort of proximity to Mickey would end in the same result, there was only one weakness Ian had and it seemed to be a dark haired thug.

Before he could understand what was happening he felt a rough hand slip around the back of his neck and pull him down. The fullness of Mickey’s lips met his, and he groaned. He’d forgotten in their absence just how wonderful Mickey’s lips were. He tried to dedicate every feeling of them to his memory, afraid he’d never get to do it again.

Ian’s hands slid from the fence to grip at the back of Mickey’s jacket. As the kiss grew more intense the less thoughts Ian had of this being a bad idea. It’d been so long, since that day someone else claimed Mickey as theirs, and he hadn’t wanted to look at anyone else since then. He’d only wanted to see Mickey beneath him, and if he couldn’t have him, then no one would suffice.

Mickey stuttered his hips upwards to meet Ian’s, and Ian pushed forward to pin Mickey back along the flimsy chain link fence. It wasn’t a great place for friction, but it would do. They moved hurriedly, and he shivered when he felt a cold hand dip into the space above his ass under his shirt. The rough scratch of fingernails against his skin felt so good, and he remembered how Mickey loved to leave little marks behind. He never left them anywhere to be seen, just in the jut of his hip, the dimples on his lower back, or above his nipples. Back when Mickey had his beard he’d had beard burn all over his thighs for days, and that’s probably the only reason why he’d never told him to shave it.

Mickey’s hand gripped his neck in a tight hold, mouths moving rough against each other in a kiss as passionate as the last one they’d shared all that time ago.

With that thought Ian started to feel déjà vu. This could only be adding fuel to the fire, and he didn’t want to get burnt again.

He released Mickey’s lips, and gasped out, “Mickey.”

Mickey’s voice was deep with arousal, “Yeah, Firecrotch, you still got it,” his other hand moved south, towards Ian’s fly. His mouth slid against Ian’s cheek.

Ian moved back a step, catching Mickey’s hand, “No.”

Mickey pulled his hand back, stopping instantly, his face looking close to murderous, “What?”

“I can’t do this, Mickey. Southside never changes, _you_ never change.” Ian sighed, running a hand through his hair, “I’m starting to understand that, but I also know that’s not what I want.” He didn’t have it in him to say he didn’t want Mickey because it would only be a lie.

Mickey let out a disbelieving laugh, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Ian could only stand in front of him, the buzz of the lamp overhead filling the silence.

Mickey shook his head, tattooed knuckles coming up to wipe his mouth, “You know, I don’t fucking know what you expect of me. I can’t just fucking skip down the street screaming how much of a fag I am, you hear me?”

He looked down the street at something in the distance, “I can’t just do that. I did what I had to so my Dad wouldn’t kill me. I’m surprised I’m not dead anyway. So fuck that, I’m not risking my life again. I may love cock, but I ain’t fucking dying for it.”

On his own terms, it wasn’t so hard to say it. Hearing Mickey tell him they weren’t going to work out together hurt worse than it did when he told himself the same thing.

Mickey’s gaze settled on his, and Ian could tell as much as he didn’t look it, he was as upset as Ian was. Two people who wanted to be together, but couldn’t. Fucking Southside. It’ll give you fairytales alright, just not the pretty ones.

Mickey nudged Ian to get around him. Ian felt like more should be said; like _he_ should say more. What more was there to say? As he’d heard a million times, Mickey wouldn’t risk himself here. Ian didn’t blame him.

The sight of Mickey walking away felt less like a goodbye and more like an ending.

He’d kind of wished Mickey would have hit him, pushed him down into the gravel. At least he would have had the sting, the bruises, _something_ days later when he was feeling lonely.

+++

March ended quickly with Ian allowing himself time to wallow in self pity before pushing it to the back of his mind. He’d never truly be over it, _him_ , because admitting Mickey was his first real love was harder to confess than it was to completely deny it. April approached, and with a steady schedule of school and work, that month breezed by, too.

He couldn’t get over the fact that just a handful of months ago he’d been gone, free of Southside, and now he was back. He’d barely been gone a month, and he supposed that was why no one really seemed to care anymore. They got him back, he was home, but it was Ian who couldn’t forget.

Leaving had brought something out in Ian, he could feel it. It was as if _he_ was different, not Southside, never Southside. He’d tasted a new place, and he’d loved it.

Turning eighteen just brought back all those feelings he’d felt when packing up and heading out the door all those months ago. He could finally do it, he could finally leave. He could leave the one place that put an itch under his skin, as if staying too long was giving him exposure to something he couldn’t stand. Not even Fiona could stop him this time, but he’d made a promise to her, and he’d keep it.

Finish school, get his diploma, and Fiona promised he could skip town then. As long as Ian swore he’d let Fiona know when, where, and why; he’d placed a fear in her she’d never had before. That maybe no one would take her kids away, they’d just want to leave her on their own. He felt bad for doing that to her, when all she’d done was sacrifice for them and put them above most of her own needs. Since he’d been back he played the good brother, and always let her know where he was, any problems he was having (which had gone down astronomically), and tried to involve himself with the family more.

They’d arranged a surprise birthday party for him, which meant he already knew about it because nothing really was a surprise when five Gallagher’s planned something. All he’d asked for was a homemade cake. He’d made enough money working for Linda again that leaving wasn’t going to be an issue for awhile, and if he _was_ going to leave, he couldn’t take all his things with him. It was going to be hard leaving his family, leaving most of his belongings, but Ian was set on doing this for himself. He didn’t want to end up like Kash, living a life he hated waking up to. He didn’t want to be like Jimmy’s dad, going out at night picking up boys to quell his needs. He didn’t want to turn into Mickey, repressed by the very place he called home.

Ian wanted to be out, he wanted to be free. He wanted to live the life he had a right to. Fiona had raised him, and he was thankful, but it was his turn to make something out of it.

He locked up that night at the Kash and Grab because Linda told him runaways didn’t deserve time off for birthdays, but he’d planned on working anyway. It was Saturday, what was there to do all day if he wasn’t going to be allowed at home and Mandy was busy. It wasn’t late when he got done, usually around seven thirty, or eight, and the walk home gave him time to practice acting surprised.

When he got home, he walked in through the front door, that way he wouldn’t be able to see everything laid out from the kitchen. Debbie and Carl rarely ever got to act like kids, and he knew they’d love it to be able to thoroughly surprise him, so he could go along with it.

He walked in closing the door behind him, taking his jacket off and placing it on the rack in front of the door. Chicago had the most random weather, and even in May, it had been one of those nights he couldn’t get away with just a simple sweater. The heat of the house knocked the chill out of his bones quickly, and he turned to go into the living room.

The first thing he saw was all the decorations. The second thing he saw was almost every single important person standing in the living room wearing goofy smiles, and even goofier hats.

“SURPRISE!” they yelled in unison, Debbie’s voice by far the loudest. He smiled, looking shocked but not really needing to fake it. The living room looked like Party City threw up in it.

Kevin and Veronica were there; Veronica already yelling out for Carl to grab a hat to put on Ian and Kevin gave him a congratulatory pat on the back, all the while Debbie was squeezing him around the middle.

“Happy Birthday, Ian,” she said, birthday hat poking into his chest. He smiled down at her fondly and squeezed her back.

“Thanks, Debs,” and he meant it. This was probably the most they’d ever gone out for him for a party. Not that a birthday wasn’t a huge celebration anyway for any Gallagher. Surviving one more year of what they went through? Anyone would want to party.

But Ian was now _legally an adult_ , and not even wanted by the police. That was something to cheer for.

Carl handed him a bright blue hat with ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY’s all over it. It had tinsel sprouting out from the top.

“If I gotta look like a douche with this thing on, so do you,” Carl said, fidgeting with his own hat. Ian laughed but fit the strap under his chin and the hat fit snug over his short red hair.

Fiona cuffed Carl lightly against the head, “Go help your sister get out the cake,” she ordered, “and don’t go adding any melted action men to it, okay?” she called after him, but he just shuffled into the kitchen without a reply.

Fiona turned around, already a huge smile on her face, “Happy Birthday, Kiddo.”

She grabbed for him, pulling him into a hug and planted a kiss on his cheek. Really, if anyone should feel accomplishment that he’d made it this far, it was Fiona, not him.

“Thanks,” he said. She pulled away and told him she’d be right back with cake.

Lip walked over holding Liam, and promptly disposed of him in Ian’s arms. Liam patted Ian on the cheek, giving a sweet kiss to his brother’s face. Liam’s own birthday hat was askew on his head, and seemed to be an inch from falling off completely.

 Lip threw an arm over Ian’s shoulder and roughed up his hair with a fist. Ian grabbed his own hat quickly before it could fall off. That was as affectionate as he and Lip usually got.

“So you made it! You’ve joined the ranks of us adult schmucks now,” Lip said, grinning.

“Responsibility!” Crowed Kevin from his place by the stereo.

“Bills!” V added with her own sorrow filled voice.

“Don’t go banging any underager’s, you can go to jail for that now,” Lip teased, but Ian just pinched him in the side.

“If anyone has to worry about that, it’s you!” Lip danced away from him, rubbing his side and laughing.

Kevin finally got the stereo working and the house was filled with someone’s play list of party tunes.

Before Ian could walk over to the kitchen to see what Fiona and the gang were doing, there was a knock on the front door. Being the closest one to the door, he moved to answer it.

He opened it to an explosion of confetti going off in his face.

“Happy birthday!” Mandy exclaimed, pulling Ian and Liam together into a smushed threeway hug.

“Birfday!” Liam cried, his hat now completely off his head and hanging around his neck.

“I thought you were busy today,” he asked her, helping Liam adjust his hat.

“I lied,” she said promptly, skittering around him. Ian glanced over to the living room but he couldn’t see Lip.

“Mandy,” he hesitated. She was his best friend but she was still a Milkovich. He knew well not to piss them off.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea you’re here? Not that I don’t want you to be!” he added quickly. He loved that she’d shown up, but he wasn’t sure what the deal was yet between her and Lip.

“Lip still thinks I’m a crazy bitch,” she rolled her eyes, “but we’ve been talking a bit. He told me they were throwing something for you and asked me to swing by if I wanted,” she shrugged. As if being thought of as a crazy bitch wasn’t something to be upset about. It probably wasn’t in her house.

“Well, then let the party begin,” he said, leading her into the living room where Kevin and V were breaking it down, Debbie was doing the robot and Carl was making a cat dance. They didn’t even own a cat.

She held up a dark blue birthday bag and asked Ian where to put it. Before he could answer Fiona swooped in, taking Liam from his arms.

“You can put the presents on the island in the kitchen,” she told her, watching Mandy make her way over.

“What’s Mandy doing here?” Fiona whispered at him, as if Lip hadn’t already noticed her arrival.

“Uh, I guess Lip invited her?” He was still confused on that one too.  
  
“Oh,” Fiona said, puzzled. “The more the merrier?”

Ian nodded. Best not to question things too deeply in this part of town, the more you thought about it the more confusing it got.

Before they could say anything else, Fiona spotted the cat Carl had been playing with and was off to berate him for playing with “living creatures Carl, for godsakes, it’s not even _ours!”._

Ian saw out of the corner of his eye Lip and Mandy talking in the kitchen. It didn’t look intimate but it didn’t exactly look hostile either. At what point do you draw the line with someone you have feelings for? When they drive over someone? When they beat you up? When they marry someone else?

Ian decided to let his train of thought go. Mickey wouldn’t come to his party even if he was three sheets to the wind, and thinking about him wasn’t going to make his day any better. He actually wanted to enjoy his party. He made his way around the couch, where Veronica grabbed him and started dancing around the living room with him. He laughed, fumbling over his shoes. He’d never been a good dancer, not even after Monica introduced him to that gay club and he’d kept going back. Sometimes practice did not make perfect.

Before he knew it Fiona was announcing it was time for cake, and Carl (no cat in sight) rushed past Ian enthusiastically. They made their way into the kitchen, and with Liam buckled in his high chair, Fiona placed the cake out on the table.

“Now I don’t know how well it got because halfway through the recipe Debbie’s laptop battery died and she misplaced the charger, so we had to wing it,” she told him, “but it looks good!”

Kevin groaned, “If I drop dead tomorrow, you know who to blame, V.”

Veronica smacked him on the arm, but couldn’t stop her laughter from escaping.

Fiona glared in their direction, but started lighting all eighteen candles. To Ian it looked more like a fire hazard than a celebratory cake.

Mandy wrapped her arms around his middle as they sang happy birthday, but as he blew out the candles his wish was for another pair of Milkovich arms to be wrapped tightly around him.

+++

They settled on the steps of the porch out back after the party was over. The little kids had been put to bed, Kevin and Veronica had left, and he and Mandy had made their way outside. Lip looked like he wanted to follow, but Fiona tasked him with cleaning duty just as he was turning.

Their sides touched as they sat on the same step, just fitting what with his broad shoulders taking up most of the room. It was too hot to be pressed up against each other, even in the summer night air, but he found he didn’t mind much.

They were passing a cigarette back and forth.

“So, do you know what you’re going to do after you graduate?” She asked, sounding curious. They’d never really talked about their futures before. Not when their futures were so close to being reality.

Ian took a drag of the cigarette, the cherry glowing red with his inhale.

“The army didn’t ban you, did they?” She asked, playing with a piece of her hair.

He shook his head, “No, because I was underage they didn’t try my actions as an adult. Let’s just say if I ever decide to go back my record has to be squeaky clean, under my legitimate identity, and they suggested I enroll in another division.”

“Like Air Force or the Navy?”

“Yeah, but,” he sighed, “I don’t think I want to go back.”

She raised her eyebrows, “Since I’ve known you that’s all you’ve ever wanted to do.”

“I do want to, but I just. I saw what the army was like, and I enjoyed it, but I want to try living somewhere new.”

Somewhere he could start fresh. Somewhere he could be Ian Gallagher without being scared. Southside hadn’t been the place for that, and the army wasn’t the place for that, either.

She nodded, taking the burning cigarette back from him and flicking the ashes.

“So I guess that means you’re leaving Southside then,” she guessed.

“I want to,” he admitted. A thick silence settled between them. He’d never thought it would be hard to tell his friends and family he wanted to leave. He didn’t want to leave _them_ , just _here._

“I asked Lip if I could go with him if he goes to MIT,” she confessed. Ian felt his eyebrows lift.

“What he say?” Lip hadn’t mentioned that to him.

“We haven’t talked about it since I asked. I tried to bring it up today but he says he’s not even sure what he’s doing yet,” she sounded resigned. Like she was prepared for him to up and leave without her.

“It’s just,” she started, sounding like she was about to tell him something private, “I don’t want to be left behind. You’ll be leaving soon, and I know the minute you have that diploma in your hands we’ll just be left in your dust.”

“Mandy-“ he didn’t _want_ to make her feel abandoned.

“Lip will leave eventually, too. Once he knows you’re settled and Fiona can take care of everything without you guys. Mickey’s already gone, and I know I have my other brothers but none of them have been there for me like he has,” she sniffled, rubbing her long sleeve sweater under her nose.

Ian could hardly hear the rest of her words over the ringing in his ears.

“Mickey left?” he repeated, stunned.

She nodded, putting out their cigarette and wiping under her eyes, “Yeah, like a couple weeks ago.”

He hadn’t seen Mickey since St. Patrick’s day, but he didn’t think that was because he’d _left_.

“I-“ Ian choked, “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

She turned to look at him, “He told me not to mention it to anyone, and I figured you wouldn’t want to know anyway.”

Ian felt on the verge of a panic attack.

“Why wouldn’t I want to know? You knew we were- that we’d been together!” He hoped his voice didn’t sound as panicked as he felt. For some reason Mickey leaving Southside was entirely different from Ian leaving. If Mickey stayed Ian would always know where he was, but if Mickey left? There was nothing tying them together anymore.

“He told me not to fucking tell anyone, I kinda got the feeling he meant _you_ ,” her voice sounded harsh, as if he’d offended her.

His fists bunched up and he brought them up to rub his eyes, “Fuck.”

Mandy let out a small sound, and instantly she felt a hand on his back, as if she was sorry.

“We never really got to talk about you guys, did we?” she asked, as she rubbed his back soothingly. She laid her head to rest against his shoulder, her breath warm through the fabric of his shirt.

“No, I guess we didn’t,” he croaked. That last time really had been goodbye. Maybe he’d driven Mickey to leave, by not giving in.

He rested his elbows on his knees and took a deep breath.

“He’s your Lip, isn’t he?” She whispered.

It took him a minute, but finally he got it. The one person you’d do anything for, who could make you completely utterly stupid, who you would become a different person for.

“Yeah,” he whispered back, “he is.”

She took one of his hands in hers, and they sat there on the back porch on a cool May night thinking about how one person could ruin you forever.

+++

His graduation day had to have been one of the most normal (for a Gallagher) and yet hectic days of his life.

Lip could never do anything the normal way, he’d just grabbed his diploma from the office and called it a day. Ian Gallagher wasn’t allowed to do that. It was in the rules.

Ian had gotten back on track with his classes and was to graduate on time, cap and gown, walking across the stage as his family screamed his name embarrassingly, the whole nine yards.

“KIDS! I NEED YOU DOWN HERE AND READY IN TEN MINUTES!” Fiona screamed, slipping off one shirt in favor of another one.

“Does this one say ‘successfully helped my sibling graduate’?” Fiona asked Ian from where he was perched on the island eating a bowl of cheerios, trying to keep them off his button up shirt and grey slacks.

“Uh,” he looked up, looking over her ruffled white shirt and black skirt, “yes?”

Lip came galloping down the steps, “I can see your bra through it,” he informed her, before grabbing a banana and slipping into the living room.

“Ugh!” she groaned, ripping it off and rooting around in her pile for something else.

“Fiona, I don’t think anyone will be reading into what you’re wearing,” he informed her around a mouthful of cereal.

She turned to glare at him, “Excuse me for wanting to look nice at my _little brother’s graduation_. This is the first one I’ve got to attend because,” she raised her voice towards the living room, “my other brother is a heathen who can’t conform to the order of society!”

Ian saw Lip raise his hand in acknowledgement, and snorted.

Fiona just rolled her eyes and continued her search.

Ian’s eyes landed on the clock, he had about fifteen minutes to get to the school.

“Um,  Fi?” He nudged his head toward the clock.

Her head popped through a black and silver button down shirt. She glanced up at the clock.

“DEBBIE! CARL!” She slipped on a pair of heels and made her way up the steps.

Ian went to put his bowl in the sink, and when he turned around he saw Lip standing in the doorway.

“You nervous?” Lip asked, fiddling with the cuffs of his own nice dress shirt. It was probably one of the few times Ian had seen him all dressed up. Besides that one disastrous time when he was 9 and Monica had been all in favor of professional _family photos._ It hadn’t ended well.

Fiona had told them she didn’t want them going to his graduation looking like a group of vagabonds, which had only prompted Debbie and Carl into asking what a vagabond was. Lip had supplied ‘ _Frank’_ as the appropriate definition.

“Sorta. This is the easy part, I guess.” It was the rest of his life that was iffy.

Lip smiled, “Eh, you’ll figure it out.” As if it was that easy.

“I hope so. I don’t need to follow in Frank’s footsteps,” he joked, hoping he didn’t sound as worried as he felt about it.

Lip laughed, but shook his head, “You’re safe, I think that specific gene would have made an appearance by now.”

Fiona came stomping down the stairs a second later with Liam dressed up wearing a bowtie in her arms. Debbie was in a flowing pink dress and Carl looked uncomfortable in his own nice button down and jeans. The kid didn’t own anything _other_ than jeans and board shorts. Fiona had been livid when Carl had told her he’d “donated” all his nice slacks to sickly children. Mostly because it was more likely he’d used them to light on fire.

“Oh, Fiona, that shirt definitely screams _responsible guardian_ ,” Lip teased.

“Well, I got two down already, don’t I?” she threw back, “Okay, are we ready, Gallaghers?” She asked, looking around her small tribe, “Let’s go.”

+++

The night before Ian was supposed to leave he felt an enormous wave of regret. Regret that he couldn’t make a living here, that he didn’t _want_ to, regret that he couldn’t bring his family with him, but mostly regret that he didn’t feel as sad to be leaving he should have. He felt excited, like nothing in the world could stop him from the adventure he was about to embark in.

As much as he was excited to be leaving he felt sadness when he looked into the eyes of his family members. His heart was aching something fierce at missing Liam’s first full sentence, Carl’s football practices, and Debbie’s traumatic womanly dilemmas.

He felt something like guilt clench at his throat when he realized he would no longer be a help to the only people who had ever been there for him. He knew Lip wasn’t leaving yet, if he ever decided to, but through thick and thin Ian had always helped provide for them, and now that he was moving he could no longer do that.

He couldn’t supervise at Debbie’s sleep over’s, or talk Carl out of a bad idea. He couldn’t listen to Lip lament over his fucked up love life, or hug Fiona when he knew she was having a particularly bad day.

He’d no longer be adding to the squirrel fund, and hoped they wouldn’t suffer too badly in his absence. Fiona had told him a few days ago she wanted nothing more than for him to leave Southside and find a place where he could be happier. It still felt like the most selfish thing he could have done, and he’d slept with his employer’s husband for godsakes. If Ian didn’t know a little about selfishness, who would?

Still, Lip helped him pack the Ice Cream Truck up with a few medium sized boxes of Ian’s stuff and seemed happy to do so. Fiona promised he could take or come back for any of his furniture if he wanted, but Ian refused. One of them would need it more than him, at any rate. His side of the room looked the same, just with less Ian. He wished it one last farewell before picking up the last duffel bag and heading downstairs.

Fiona was in the living room waiting for him.

When she saw him coming down, she threw the toys she’d been picking up from the floor aside and wrapped him up into a hug. He could feel her tears dampening the cotton of his shirt.

He’d had a talk with himself every night since he’d figured out where he wanted to go and what day he’d leave. _Do not cry_. Try not to completely break down in front of the people who had made him the strong young man he was today.

The talks did nothing in the face of a sobbing Fiona.

“I’m not upset,” Fiona’s muffled voice told his shoulder, “I’m just so proud of you. I’m sad, but I’m happy.”

She raised her head to give him a watery smile.

“My first kid to leave Southside,” she sounded awed, “I never expected you guys to stay, but to know you’re getting out to make something of yourself…” She squeezed him into another hug.

“I am so proud of you, Ian,” she whispered again, and he couldn’t bring himself to let go of her to wipe the few tears threatening to fall from his own eyes.

She was as much a mom-figure to him as she was his older, slightly crazy sister.

“Thanks Fiona,” he told her, whispering as if it was a secret, “for everything.”

She sniffled, and it sounded loud in his ears, but he held onto her until she started to release him and move back.

He got the wind knocked out of him next by Carl squeezing him around his ribs. The younger boy was hiding his face, and although he couldn’t see, Ian was pretty positive the kid was crying. He hadn’t seen Carl cry since all that stuff happened with Frank.

It was painful to know he was causing their distress.

“I promise to take care of the stuff you gave me,” he vowed, still holding tight to Ian’s middle.

“I know you will, bud,” Ian said, kneeling down to look Carl in the eye.

Carl wiped hastily at his face, but Ian could see the redness of his tears.

“I’ll come back to visit,” Ian promised, but Carl just kept his eyes downcast.

“Hey, Carl,” Ian rubbing his shoulder soothingly, “I _promise_ I’ll come back. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

His joke seemed to fall on deaf ears. Ian bent farther down so he could look Carl in the eye.

“Don’t be mad,” he tried instead.

“’m not mad,” Carl mumbled, refusing to look at Ian.

Before Ian could say anything else Carl sighed.

“Lip’s gonna leave next, I just know it,” he muttered darkly.

“I’m not sure what Lip’s planning,” Ian admitted, “but Carl, even if we both live somewhere else it doesn’t mean we can’t still be there for you. We’re your big brothers.”

Carl wiped his sleeve across his face again, “It’s different,” he protested.

“I’m stuck here all by myself,” he told Ian, looking up at him accusingly, “with a baby and _two girls_.”

Ian pulled Carl closer by the back of his shaved head, and whispered, “Look, Carl, I’m counting on you to take care of them while I’m gone. I can’t be here, so that makes _you_ the brother in charge.”

Carl looked at him skeptically.

“And if Lip decides to leave, who’s gonna watch out for our family? I gave you some of my army stuff so you could protect them, and I know you’ll do a fine job even if both Lip and I leave Southside.”

Carl muttered something but Ian couldn’t quite hear it.

“I’m not leaving forever, I’ll be back to visit. I’ll call and want to hear about how everything’s going. No one’s gonna forget about you, Carl, okay?” Feeling like he’d said enough, Ian hugged his younger brother once more before tapping him lightly on the back of the head.

“Keep the violence and fire down to a minimum, okay?”

Carl let out a quiet laugh, “Yeah, no promises,” and with the usually smirk back on Carl’s face, Ian knew he’d averted one crisis today.

He wasn’t entirely sure if he’d have to avert another, realizing he’d yet to see or hear from Debbie since this morning when they’d starting hauling stuff out. Fiona came through the front door, asking Carl to go help Lip.

“Have you seen Debs?” Ian asked.

Fiona rubbed her forehead, and he felt that rush of guilt again. She looked stressed.

“I think she’s up in her room, but I haven’t seen her since breakfast, no.” He went to pick up his duffel bag that had gotten dropped in all the goodbyes.

“Nope, let me take that,” she insisted, heaving it onto her shoulder, “you go find Debs and say goodbye.”

He thanked her and turned to head up the steps.

“Ian?” She called, standing near the entrance to the front door, “Liam should be up from his nap. I know he won’t remember it, but say goodbye to him, too. He’s going to miss you as much as any of us.”

With that she turned and made her way out the front door.

He hoped Liam would even remember him, to be honest. Ian had no memory from when he was three and four. He’d just have to make it routine to come visit when he could, that way Liam would have some memories of his older brother.

“Debbie?” Ian called out when he got to the top of the landing. He made his way to her door and knocked, but no response.

“Debs?” he pushed the door open slightly and she was sitting at her desk, writing on a piece of paper.

She scribbled something real quick and turned around in a flourish, “Done!”

He must have looked confused because she got up and handed him the piece of paper.

“I wrote you your first letter,” she explained, “But don’t read it yet.”

“Okay,” he said, folding it and sticking it in his back pocket, “I’ll save it for later.”

“I’m going to mail you letters, so we can be pen pals,” she told him, looking excited.

“Debbie, you know you can just call me-“

“No,” she interrupted, “I didn’t get a pen pal last year because our partners went through a _natural disaster,_ Mrs. Rosh said, so now that you’re leaving it’s the perfect opportunity.”

Ian couldn’t argue with that logic, and hoped he could keep up writing to her as frequent as he predicted her letters to be. With Debbie it could be daily for all he knew.

She looked at him for a second before saying, “Do you think I’ll get to leave, too?”

Ian probably looked as taken aback as he felt by that question.

“You mean when you’re my age?” he asked, hoping he hadn’t invoked a Gallagher Family Runaway session. Fiona would kill him.

“Duh,” she rolled her eyes, “I just don’t know what I want to do yet,” she confessed.

He made his way over to her bed and took a seat, knowing she’d follow him and do the same.

“Debbie, you don’t have to know what you want to do yet. You’re still in school,” he assured her.

“You knew what you wanted to do when you were in school, and you left then, too,” she reminded him.

He rolled his eyes. Let Debbie be the first to point out any major failed plans in his life.

“Yeah, and look how that ended up. I’m still not sure what I want to do, but I know I want to figure it out somewhere else.”

“I don’t know,” she confided in him, “if I want to leave here.” She sounded as if what she’d said was a _very bad thing_.

“Debbie, this isn’t exactly Hollywood but if you want to live here, that’s fine. There are lots of people who stay, make a life and living out of being in Chicago. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be closer to your family,” he just knew that for himself, Chicago would never be somewhere he could be completely happy.

“You have so much time, Debs, so don’t worry about it. I’m doing what I’m doing to be happy. All you have to worry about is school, having fun and being safe. The rest you’ll figure out in time.” He almost impressed himself with his wise words; it was usually Fiona or Lip who gave the pep-talks.

“Thanks Ian,” she said, giving him hug.

“I’m going to miss you,” she whispered into his side, “Lip’s gone a lot, and Carl doesn’t play _normal_ games. You always did.”

He felt more touched than he probably should have, but it meant a lot to him that she was going to miss him. He felt slightly overlooked in their family, what with Lip’s IQ and Carl’s weird tendencies. Ian found himself to be normal and boring. Knowing Debbie liked that about him made him feel disappointed to be leaving her.

He hugged her back, “Thanks, Debs,” he kissed the top of her head, “I promise to call.”

Before she could say something he added, “and write.”

She hopped off her bed, “I’m gonna go see if Lip got the truck started yet, don’t forget my letter!” and with that she was out of his range of sight.

Oh yeah, he forgot in all his packing that Lip hadn’t been able to get the van to start from its parked position on the curb. It’d gotten here just fine, but Ian was starting to wonder if taking their deathtrap of a van was a good idea.

Ian made his way downstairs to the kitchen. Fiona had put Liam to sleep in his play crib because they’d been packing the rest of Ian’s stuff upstairs. Since the room was as small as a closet, they would have ended up either waking him or dropping something on him. Neither Fiona was willing to risk.

Liam was bleary eyed and hugging a blanket to his chest. Ian could tell from experience he’d just woken up.

“Hey, Liam,” he whispered playfully down at the toddler. Liam smiled, and started to sit up.

Ian swooped down and picked him up, holding him to the front of his chest. Liam, still drowsy, laid his head on Ian’s soft shoulder.

Ian rested his head on top of Liam’s and for the umpteenth time today thought of calling the whole thing off and staying. It was hard to leave the only family you had, to move to a place that had no one you knew. He felt like he was leaving his whole life behind. Every spot he and lip had gotten high in, every place they’d found to hangout in, every lifeline he had was in this place. Every memory he’d made was cemented in Southside.

He couldn’t help he was raised in a violent, repressed and poverty stricken part of Chicago, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t sad to be leaving. It’d been the only place he’d known, it would (probably) be the only place Liam knew. He didn’t want Liam knowing his home without Ian in it.

“’an, ungee,” Liam babbled, trying to communicate to Ian what he wanted.

“You’re hungry?” Ian walked over to the cupboard to grab some Cheerio’s; it would tide him over until Fiona made dinner.

He handed Liam a few Cheerio’s and watched him munch on them happily.

He ran his hand over Liam’s short curly hair and let the nerves that had settled in his stomach calm themselves. ROTC had been a hobby turned goal, and although he’d willingly gotten on the bus for the army, Ian at heart wasn’t a risk-taker. He mostly fell into the situation’s he’d been put into. Kash had kissed him first, and he’d wanted it so badly he’d gone along with it. Mandy had given him no choice but to defend his life and Mickey had climbed on top of _him_. Ned had asked Ian to rob his house, and as a favor for a sad, depressed man (who’d bought him room service and treated him nicely), he’d done it. Half the schemes he and Lip pulled had been planned by, well, Lip, and he’d always be the right hand to his brother if he needed to be.

He didn’t put himself out there on purpose it just seemed to happen to him. Living in an entirely different place was one of the very few decisions he’d made solely himself, and he could tell the journey he was about to take was going to be filled with even more obstacles. Part of him wasn’t sure he was ready, but another part knew he had to be.

“Let’s go see how the trucks coming, little man,” Ian said to Liam as he walked outside. It was starting to warm up with summer approaching and the sun was throwing warm rays around, making his eyes squint.

He used his free hand to cover his eyes to block the sun. Lip was bent over the engine asking Carl to crank it for him, while Kevin hovered over his shoulder knowing nothing about cars. Veronica and Fiona were laughing at him from the side of the road, and Debbie was hanging off the side of the ice cream truck.

Ian walked down the rest of the steps and out the gate to stand beside Fiona.

“Hey stinker!” she said, rubbing Liam’s back, she didn’t try to take Liam from Ian and Ian was thankful. He wasn’t quite ready to let his youngest brother go yet.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, Veronica giving pointed looks at Kevin to help Lip and Kevin replying with helpless eyes back at her because he had no clue what to help with. Fiona would make a comment to Veronica and the process would start all over again.

Ian was happy to stand back and watch his family and friends.

Finally Carl cranked the engine and it decided to turn over. Over the roar of the engine he saw more than heard Carlo give a 'whoop', fist pumped high into the air. Lip leaned back from his work, arms raised in victory. Kevin, finally finding a chance to help, closed the hood with a small slam.

Carl hopped down off the truck, asking if Lip would show him what he did sometime.

“I think you’re actually old enough this summer to help us out with the Ice Cream Truck sales,” he said, mostly in Kevin’s direction.

“Oh yeah, we always need a helping hand.” He made sure not to mention who’d been helping them last year, and why they were down a pair of hands this year.

“Oh man, cool!” Carl exclaimed.

“Yeah, we’ll see,” Fiona said, giving Lip her trademark stare.

“Who knows if this thing will even be running by the time I get back,” Lip motioned to the rusty heap of junk he’d be taking Ian in.

“ _If_ you make it back,” Kevin joked, causing Veronica to smack him in the chest but it only made him laugh harder.

“I’m ready when you are,” Lip said, leaning causally against the truck. He had grease on his shirt and a smudge on his cheek but if he was ready, so was Ian.

Ian squeezed Liam one last time before handing him over to Fiona. Fiona exchanged Liam for a hug in return and muttered, “Be safe, and don’t forget to call when you get there,” in his ear.

He promised he would.

Next was Veronica, who squeezed him so tightly he was sure he’d never been that close to a pair of tits before.  She told him if he got into any trouble to make sure he call either Fiona or her, “You can call me anytime, 24/7, okay?” She kissed him and Kevin collected him for a manly hand shake and a brief hug.

“Don’t go forgetting about us,” Kevin said, releasing him, “’cause Fiona will just find you and bring you back again.”

“Damn right!” Fiona added, smiling.

“I won’t , I won’t,” Ian laughed, face warming in embarrassment. They’ll be reminding him of his army stint a hundred years from now, he was sure of it.

He hugged Carl and Debbie one last time before hopping in the truck where Lip was already seated and buckled.

“Where to?” Lip mimicked in a perfect impression of Leonard DiCaprio.

It pulled a laugh out of Ian, and even though he knew Lip was trying to lighten up the mood, he still punched him.

“Alright,” Lip relented, rubbing his shoulder, “Next stop, Pittsburgh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I picked the city I did for Ian because it's (sorta) close to me, I can manage to create my own "city" feel while still giving you a real place to set it in, and because well, he needed to go somewhere! Why not stay at least relatively close to home?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to personally thank everyone for their comments and kudos! I don't have much free time between my two jobs and life time hassles, but I'll try my best to start responding to your comments as best I can. (:
> 
> Again, looked over by me, any mistakes are my own. Enjoy!

Ian walked up the apartment complex steps, opening the glass doors to get inside. It smelled faintly of marijuana and burnt food, but that wasn’t anything new to him. He was holding a slip of paper that read _563A_. He hadn’t considered what a walk it’d be when he’d called the lady after he’d arrived in Pittsburgh. She suggested he call her when he got in, so she could meet him to give him a few things and help him with directions.

To be honest, it wasn't anything spectacular but it was the best he’d found without the pictures making him want to crawl right out of his skin. Most affordable, too.

He saw a little Asian lady waiting inside, where she promptly handed him an envelope which held his set of keys and a paper that read “ _Suite Luxury Apartments: Regulations”._ Ian skimmed the list, most of them standard but the third regulation on the list he wasn’t entirely sure was _possible_.

With a small heavily accented “Welcome to Suite Luxury” she was gone and he made his way up the wooden stairs. He kept going flight after flight, the deep mahogany creaking now and then as he continued on his way. Finally Ian walked up one last single flight of steps and a door with a crooked 3, but otherwise reading 563A, was in front of him. He looked up and down the short hallway, spying three other doors. Everything seemed quiet, as if his neighbors either weren’t home or possibly sleeping.

He kept his footsteps light as he walked to the front of his door, sliding the key in and turning the knob. He braced himself for what he was about to walk into, although pictures he’d seen posted online had looked halfway decent. He’d taken them at face value, and hoped to god when he arrived the apartment would look as the photos had.

Ian walked forward into the apartment, bracing himself for the worst. He noticed it was at least partially furnished. A walk down a short hallway opened up to a larger room with a living room and small connected kitchenette. It smelled like Lysol, but under the cleaner the dank smell of cigarettes lingered. He appreciated the effort at clean up the women must have tried, but some things you just couldn’t get rid of.

He walked over to a ratty looking brown couch that sat across the far wall of the living room. It was the only thing in the carpeted space, no tv, no shelves, no end tables. Then again Ian hadn’t expected much of anything anyway. Anything Ian found would be an unexpected surprise, one less thing he’d have to hunt for whenever he located the local thrift shop in this part of town.

He placed his duffel down, causing the light layer of settled dust on the couch to hover in the air.

He made his way left, into the kitchenette attached straight from the living room. It felt open, and he liked that. It reminded him of home, how spacious it was and how (quite literally thanks to Carl) you could throw one object (like a football) from one end of the kitchen to the living room without a problem.

 The kitchen was covered in dark linoleum, to match the equally dark carpeting in the rest of the apartment. He was greatful because it made for easier clean up. Dark concealed way more than white ever could, and although he’d helped out around the house at home, he still hadn’t been much of a cleaner. He couldn’t count how many times he’d bailed on dish duty.

The kitchenette had the usual appliances, an off-white refrigerator, a sink, oven with a stovetop. He didn’t need much else, except maybe a toaster. With no Kevin around to borrow from, Ian guessed he’d have to go find one of his own. Thinking of Kevin and V, Ian prayed his neighbors were friendly, if not that, kept to themselves and didn’t ‘cause trouble. Despite living with half a football team of people he’d still lived in a house, and Ian had never had to worry about a neighbor only walls length away. He didn’t want to be near people who played music into the night, or fought constantly.

He’d figure out in time what kind of neighbors he had, he supposed.

Although small, the kitchen was roomy enough for a table if he could find one of the right size, maybe just small enough for a chair or two. It wasn’t like he’d be expecting much company.

He leaned against the counter, and realized he’d have to find his way back to the bus station soon, maybe tomorrow. He’d stored his boxes there for a small fee. The ice cream truck hadn’t made it the whole way, and Ian had ended up taking a bus the rest of the way in. He hadn’t wanted to carry three heavy boxes without knowing exactly where he was taking them, but he’d reached the complex without much hassle. He was just trading one city for another, really. They were all the same. Navigate through one you could navigate them all.

He pushed off from where he was resting and made his way down another small hallway. He was confronted by two doors. He opened the one directly in front of him.

It opened to reveal the bedroom, carpeted in the same dark forest color and housing a bed shoved into the far corner. He walked further inside and noticed a few spots on the carpet, from old age or a mishap down the line with the last tenants. Ian wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

It was decent, slightly larger than the room he’d shared at home but finally all _his_. He looked at the bed wearily. Although he’d lived his life with hand-me-downs, the first thing he was going to look for was a clean mattress. No telling how long it’d been in this apartment or how many _people_ it’d been through either.

Other than that, he took note, it was pretty sparse. The landlord had warned him that when the couple left most of the things had either been taken or were too damaged to leave in the apartment. He’d been okay with that, he’d just start from scratch. It wasn’t like he hadn’t prepared himself to do that anyway.

The dimming sun was casting through the windows in the room, and having seen enough, he turned and headed to investigate what was through the last door.

Deduction told him it had to be the bathroom, and as he flicked on the light switch to his left, he was correct.

Since he’d shared a bathroom with a handful of other people, he’d prepared himself for a less-than-pristine condition. Bathrooms just tended to get gross, ya know? He was taken by surprise to find, as the light flicked on, that the bathroom was in pretty good condition. The tile, white this time, looked almost new as if it had recently been replaced. The wallpaper, although yellowing, looked perfectly fine too. He could have lived without the little pink flowers that covered it, but he guessed it was suppose to give it that ‘homey’ feel. For Ian, it really didn’t. Only a too small clustered bathroom could do that.

Ian drew the curtain back from the shower. It wasn’t as horrifying as he’d been prepared for either, although it had rust and water spots he could overlook that in favor of always being the one to get the first shower with glorious hot water.

The sink wasn’t clogged up with long dark hair, or caked toothpaste like the upstairs bathroom at home had always been, and the empty space along the counter made him ache with loneliness. Their bathroom had always been annoyingly cluttered but it gave no illusion of solitude- someone was always there for him if he’d need it. Here? Not so much.

He flicked off the light and shuffled back into the living room, sitting down on the couch beside his bag. It felt weird being along in an empty room, without someone barging in, or talking, or screaming or just _being there._

Even his thoughts sounded loud in the quiet room.

Tomorrow he’d have to go back for his stuff and tough out the half dozen or so blocks with the rest of his luggage. Tomorrow he’d have to get familiar with the area, where the shops, banks, bars, _anything_ , was. Tomorrow he’d start looking for a job.

Ian leaned backwards along the couch, resting his head on the surprising comfy back.

Tomorrow he’d begin his life, alone, in an entirely different place.

+++

**_6 Months Later_ **

Ian felt every muscle protest as he slowly made the journey up to his apartment. Every step felt like a victory, but glancing up he saw only a hundred more challenges.

Ian groaned, holding onto the banister for support.

He’d found himself a job at the local gym. It wasn’t like the one in Southside, which had been a few small rooms packed with ancient equipment. This one looked like it had been placed inside an abandoned warehouse and felt just as big.

He’d been hired first as desk help. Greet clients, clean up, answer phones, grunt work. Slowly he was moving his way up. They’d watched as he helped gym goers out by spotting, supporting and demonstrating to them the best way to get results. It was the main thing he’d loved about ROTC, the required physical training, and his job at the store had made him surprisingly good with people.

The manager had come up to him a few months back and asked him if he wanted an opportunity for advancement. Ian wasn’t stupid enough to refuse, seeing a good chance and taking it.

Teach a few classes a week, he’d offered, and get paid more doing it. Sounded like a plan. Sounded like an excellent plan, actually.

Ian’s shins burned as he reached the final set of stairs. _Terrible plan,_ he thought, _terrible_. On top of his already five day a week work schedule, the classes were pushing him in ways he’d never been pushed; cycling class after boxing class after cardio class. Over and over, a couple times a week and several times a day. When they’d introduced the new classes he’d teach, they hadn’t had many sign ups. Then people started to see results, and popularity of his classes skyrocketed. Management had simply told him taking more days wasn’t an option, it would interfere with the other class schedules, so more time slots had been allotted to his roster.

For the first time since he’d started, he felt like he’d reached his physical limit.

He finally made it to the front of his door, still with the damn crooked 3 he’d tried (and failed) to fix over a hundred times. He fetched his keys out of his sweat pant pockets and all but fell through the doorway.

He toed off his sneakers, cracking his toes, and discarded his hoodie on the coat rack he’d found laying out for free down a block and half last week. It’d reminded him of the one back home.

He cracked his back, making his way down the hallway to the kitchen. He had a new appreciation for everything Fiona had done (and still does) for them so they could live properly. He’d never felt so overworked in his life. The Kash and Grab had been _cake_ compared to this new job.

He made his way to the fridge, fixing to make himself a sandwich when he felt hands slid around his waist.

He jumped so hard every muscle in his body spasmed in protest, and he turned around quickly ready to land a punch-

“Dylan?!” Ian asked, surprise decorating his voice, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I didn’t work today so I decided to hang out,” he shrugged, tugging Ian closer.

Ian looked at him disbelievingly, “You’ve been here _all day?_  I left this morning!”

“Well, I don’t have a key,” Dylan said accusingly, “so I couldn’t just leave and come back, now could I?”

He’d met Dylan at the gym when he’d first started. Dylan had been one of the first people he’d started helping out, and he was pretty much his unofficial trainer now. Ian didn’t have the qualifications yet for that, but he felt it coming. Helping people out at the gym was just one step closer to achieving his goal.

Ian hadn’t really given thought to Dylan in a sexual manner. He wasn’t exactly what Ian would go looking for, shockingly short blonde hair and blue eyes, stocky and tall, almost as tall as Ian. 

Mostly he hadn’t considered it because he’d assumed Dylan was straight, or maybe Ian had finally learned not to mix pleasure with work. Or so he thought.

They’d been working on his lifting one day, having added some extra weight, and Ian had been spotting him. He’d been acting weird all day, nervous like and quiet, but Ian decided the best thing to do was continue on as normal. It wasn’t his business to ask personal questions; maybe he’d had a fight with his girlfriend or a bad day at work. Whatever it was, they didn’t really talk much about anything outside of the gym and Ian wanted to keep it that way.

While Dylan was lifting his weights, Ian took the time to stretch himself out. He’d finished a class up and was on his regular shift when Dylan had walked in. He popped his shoulder and groaned, it hadn’t felt right all day and the relieved pressure felt wonderful.

Dylan had suddenly made a panicked noise, looking distressed, hands shaking on the metal bar, and Ian helped him ground the weights and sit up.

He had walked around to face Dylan to ask him if he was okay when he noticed the problem.

Dylan was sporting a hard-on and, Ian saw him glance away, looked pretty ashamed about it.

Ian clapped him on the back and tried not to smirk.

“No worries,” Ian told him, “its normal, nothing I haven’t seen happen here before. Let’s just give you time to calm down, slow that heart rate.”

Ian had gone to get him a bottle of water and they’d continued on as if it hadn’t happened. By the time Ian was off his shift, ready to hit the showers and head home for the night, it was all but forgotten in his mind.

That is until Dylan had decided to crowd up next to him where he was getting undressed by his locker.

“Uh, hey Dylan,” Ian greeted, thinking he’d have left by now. His shirt was dangling half off, and the proximity to the other man was starting to feel uncomfortable.

“Can I help you with something?” Ian asked, trying to be professional even though he was technically off work.

Since it was well past eleven and most people were out of the gym and heading home, the locker room was deserted. That didn’t stop Dylan from clearing his throat and saying in a quiet voice, as if telling a secret, “It wasn’t from the exercise.”

Ian slipped the t-shirt over his head and off his arm, finally freeing himself from the sweaty constricting material.

“What?” Ian said, a bit impatiently. He had no idea what the other man was even talking about.

“The lifting,” Dylan said, voice quiet, but making a pointed look downward.

“Oh,” Ian said, light bulb going off as he remember the incident earlier.

He waved Dylan off dismissively, “I told you that’s normal, forget about it. It’s nothing to freak out about.”

He bent down to pick up his towel from his gym bag but a hand on his wrist stopped him.

“No,” Dylan said, shaking his head, “that's not it.”

“Alright,” Ian turned, facing the other man, “what is it then?”

Dylan released his wrist and leaned against the lockers looking nervous.

“I just,” he started, looking around quickly to make sure they were alone, “it’s not like I’ve ever done this before, and I don’t know what it is but you just-”

Ian was growing more confused and impatient by the minute. He was tired; all he wanted was a long hot shower and a quiet walk home. This conversation seemed pointless, considering the man wasn’t even making sense.

Ian could only stare at him as the silence grew, but just as he was about to tell him _again_ to forget about it Ian was shocked to feel a press of lips against his.

Ian would like to say he’d pushed him away, or told him he wasn’t going to get involved with someone at work, but he hadn’t. It had been so long since anyone, since Mickey, and the last few months had been lonely.

Ian shook his thoughts from his head to see Dylan, now in the present, leaning in for a kiss.

He twisted out of Dylan’s arms, opening the fridge and taking out a few ingredients to make his sandwich.

“Dylan, last night-“ Ian stopped. He turned around and faced Dylan, he had to learn to speak up for what he believed in, face his problems.

“We talked about this,” Ian reminded the other man.

Dylan’s eyebrows furrowed, looking like he had no recollection of what Ian was talking about.

“Yeah, well, we weren’t doing a lot of talking last night.”

“Last night wasn’t supposed to happen,” Ian muttered, turning back around, putting his sandwich together.

“Oh, fuck this,” Dylan said sliding up next to Ian, “all this because I won’t fucking skip down the street holding your hand?”

His voice made it sound childish, but Ian wasn’t going to do this here. Not for someone that wasn’t as important as-

Ian exhaled angrily.  He hadn’t thought of that certain someone in a while, Dylan being a distraction all his own, but he wasn’t going to go down this road _again._

“I came here so I didn’t have to live in the shadows, Dylan,” he told him, as he had told him multiple times so far in their very short relationship.

“I know that,” Dylan agreed, like that could win Ian over, “But I’m not ready yet. I want you to come to my family shit, I want them to meet you but-“

“But?” Ian said, turning, leaning his hip against the counter, sandwich forgotten. Dylan leaned closer, and Ian couldn’t help but sag a bit against him. It’d been a long day, and for once he just wanted to come home to someone that wasn’t ashamed of him.

Dylan grabbed the back of his neck, bringing their foreheads together, “I just. I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve only ever been with women and it’s just _new_. I don’t want to rush anything.”

Ian tramped down the anger inside him, and on one level he _could_ understand. It hadn’t been easy for Ian to understand and realize he was gay, even if he knew he was down to the very last molecule that made up his body. Everyone found that in themselves in their own time, but Ian just couldn’t see past the repetition he seemed to always fall into.

“I understand you’re figuring out your feelings,” Ian said, sighing, “But I won’t be pushed back into the closet. I don’t want to be _afraid_ here, Dylan. Not like back in Chicago.”

 “You won’t be.”

“I just, I don’t know how long I can keep doing this,” Ian admitted. Ian wasn’t sure he could put in the effort for someone like that again.

“I don’t want this to end yet, not when I’m not realizing how great you are,” Dylan said, sounding awkward but sincere, and Ian couldn’t help but give a small smile. It was nice to hear those types of things, even if a part of him wasn’t use to it.

Ian could feel the headache that had been forming all day pulse in his forehead. It’s like he couldn’t seem to escape it, couldn’t he find a nice, openly gay man _anywhere?_

But looking at Dylan Ian wanted to give him a chance, even if it meant more secrets.

He wasn’t sure what he wanted at this point in time, and having Dylan here being affectionate wasn’t helping.

Ian stomach growled, and he remembered he’d been trying to make himself food.

“Here,” Dylan offered, “let me make you that and you go take a shower.”

“Thanks,” Ian said, “but I just. I think we just need a bit of space. I’ve had a long day, I want to eat something, take a shower, and sleep.”

He could tell Dylan wasn’t happy about his refusal to let him stay, but he’d showed up randomly last night and Ian’s bad decisions had just kept escalating. Where Ian had wanted to have a talk, instead they’d ended up falling into bed, and if Dylan had been here all day like he said he'd been, he needed to leave.

“You need to head home anyway, your roommates are going to think someone murdered you,” Ian joked with a slight push to Dylan's chest.

Dylan huffed, but went to put on his shoes and grab his jacket.

Ian walked him over to the door, opening it. Before Dylan could leave, he leaned down to kiss Ian on the lips.

“I’ll call you, 'kay?” Ian could only nod as Dylan descended the stairs.

He closed it with a frustrated groan, back of his head thumping against the wooden door.

It was like the universe directed every challenge his way.

Ian padded back over to the kitchen and finished making up his sandwich.

 _A long hot shower, and then sleep_ , Ian promised himself. Everything else could just wait.

 

+++

Ian was jolted awake by a loud bang.

He sat up, wondering if his roommates were going at it again. His hope of peaceful, normal neighbors? That’d been a cute wish.

In reality they were night owls, who slept during the day and did _everything_ at night. They’d played music, ran vacuums, had vigorous fights, and awful, extremely loud sex. Lately they’d been trying to be discreet, seeing as how they’d gotten the landlord called on them one too many times already, but their vow of silence could only stretch so long he figured.

He laid back down, hoping they’d quiet down enough for him to fall back asleep. Just as he closed his eyes he heard the noise in a serious of thumps, but it sounded more towards the front of his apartment.

He got up, rubbing sleep from his eyes and padded out into the dark of the living room. He flicked on a small lamp he’d found at a thrift store, and it washed his apartment in a soft warm glow.

Nothing seemed unusual, but just to be sure he padded over to the door. As he approached a loud knock startled him.

 _It’s past one in the morning,_ Ian thought to himself, stopping in front of the door, _who the hell could be trying to visit me_?

He didn’t know many people besides those at work, and they weren’t chummy enough with him to know his address. He was a bit nervous at opening the door so freely, but the few side lights along the hallways were shit at night in the apartment complex, so peaking through the peephole on the door would be futile. He’d have no other choice, except ignoring them, and Ian was too curious for that.

He unlocked the door and opened it, and in the darkness stood a figure he was all too familiar with.

“Mickey!?” He squinted into the darkness. He was the _last_ person Ian would have expected to find on the other side of his door.

Mickey stood, barely, in front of Ian. He looked about ready to lose his balance, and Ian wondered how he made it up all those flights of stairs.

“Gal’gher,” Mickey’s voice was slurred and half out of it. He swayed, and he leaned against the doorway, the movement causing a small hiss of pain to escape past his lips.

Ian pulled him in, wanting to close the door and get a better look at him. When he finished closing the door and turned around, he gaped.

Mickey’s face was battered and bloody, swollen with countless bruises. Some of them looked old, yellow and tender, but most of them looked fresh, still red and turning an angry plum color.

“What the fuck, Mickey?” Ian asked, but he wasn’t sure what he was directing that at; the state Mickey was in, why he was here or _how_ he was here. Ian wasn’t entirely sure this wasn’t a fucked up dream.

Mickey’s hand released a small bag, and it gave a thud as it hit the hallway floor. Mickey looked like he was shivering, and Ian figured he’d probably walked a while in the cold November air. Even with a jacket on it probably hadn’t helped much.

“Here, fuck,” Mickey’s eyes were fluttering, as if he didn’t have the strength to keep them open but he wanted to focus on what Ian was doing.

Ian’s hands worked gently to take Mickey’s dirty jacket off. Mickey looked like he wanted to protest but Ian had it off and on the hanger before Mickey had a chance to do much of anything.  Ian figured if his face looked that bad then his body probably wasn’t much better, he looked like he had the fight beaten right out of him.

He was right.

Mickey’s undershirt was stained with blood, but that was probably just fallout from the bloody nose he’d obviously had, which looked to have stopped running. His shirt was torn in several places revealing cuts on Mickey’s torso, the depth of which Ian wasn’t sure.

Ian went to guide him to the couch, but it was slow going, mostly because Mickey was sporting a mean limp.

He settled him down on the couch and went to fetch a blanket from his closet. He wrapped it around Mickey before bending down in front of him. Mickey’s eyes were unfocused, but open enough that Ian knew for a split second he had his attention.

“Who the hell did this to you, Mick?” He couldn’t quite keep the disbelief out of his voice. He rested his hand on the other boy’s knee, just to remind himself that this was real.

Mickey inhaled as if to answer, but it only caused him to flinch and cough. Ian had a feeling they should go have his ribs checked out, but he didn’t have any easy way to get Mickey there without another round of steps and a few more blocks of walking.

Realizing he wasn’t going to get anything out of him in this condition, he grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, and ran a paper towel under some warm water from the faucet.

Ian placed the water by Mickey on the couch, but the other boy ignored it. His head was tilted back to rest on the back of the couch, and his eyes were closed. His breathing was harsh in the quiet of the room but he didn’t seem to be sleeping, although he wasn’t exactly responsive, either.

Ian knelt on his other side, leaning half over him, and gently started to clean Mickey’s face. He minded his right swollen eye, his fat bottom lip, and mostly tried cleaning up the crusted blood around his nose and mouth. Wiping away the blood, dirt and grime, Ian could only imagine who had pounded into Mickey’s face like this.

Mickey was awake enough to mumble a weak objection, and it figured that even half way to being unconscious he’d protest to being babied. Ian resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but he was too worried to be properly annoyed.

Ian got up to throw the dirtied paper towel away, and the sight of Mickey in his living room gave his stomach an odd twist.

The last he’d heard from Mandy on their regular calls, Mickey still wasn’t in town and their dad was still locked up in Jail.

Maybe he’d gotten himself into trouble elsewhere, but to wind up in Pittsburgh of all places? On Ian’s doorstep? That wasn’t just coincidence.

He left Mickey dozing on the couch and went into his bedroom for his cell.

He knew who he wanted to call, but found himself scrolling past her name and clicking on another contact.

He walked back into the living room, glancing over at Mickey. He was still sitting slumped on the couch, but his breath was coming out in shallow painful gasps.

“Come on,” Ian muttered, pacing out of nervousness as the call kept ringing.

“Ian?” V’s sleepy voice came through into his ear, “You better not be fucking hurt already.”

“No,” Ian reassured her, “I’m fine V, I promise.”

“Then you won’t mind me asking you why the hell you’re calling me at,” he heard her pause, “two fifteen in the morning?” Relieved he wasn’t dead, pissed he’d disrupted her sleep cycle. Good ‘ole V.

“I, uh, have a friend who’s in pretty bad shape. He’s pretty banged up, I’m not sure if I should take him to the hospital.”

“I’m assuming neither of you can get to a hospital right now?” She guessed, sounding less groggy.

“I live up a huge amount of stairs, V. I’m not even sure how he managed to get up them,” Ian would guess it was probably a miracle Mickey had made his way to Ian’s door and not passed out on the steps for Ian to trip on him on his way to work.

She sighed, and he heard the swish of a blanket and guessed she was leaving the room as to not wake up Kevin.

“Alright, tell me how beat up this kid is, then.”

Ian wasn’t sure how to describe Mickey as anything but looking like a human punching bag, but he’d try.

“His face is pretty busted up, bruised, and I think he had a bloody nose earlier. I’m not sure if it’s broken.” He shuffled closer to Mickey to get a better look. Mickey’s pale face was a stark contrast from the dark bruises on his face. He looked almost as worse as the day Terry had found them.

Ian gulped, and focused back on V.

“- bruises should be fine, least of your worries. It’s the blow to the head you have to worry about, is he conscious?” she asked, her nurse voice in full force.

“Um,” Ian wasn’t sure what to call Mickey’s level of awareness, “I don’t think he can sleep ‘cause he’s in too much pain, but he’s not exactly awake.”

“Okay, he could have a concussion, but check his pupils for any uneven dilation. He might have head trauma, and honey if he does he’s gonna need a doctor.”

Ian used his thumb to check Mickey’s eyes, and felt completely unqualified in making these types of life or death decisions. Thankfully, everything seemed normal, even if they were unfocused in pain.

“They don’t seem dilated,” Ian said hesitantly, he barely paid attention in _health_ class, and now he had to be Nurse Ian? For the first time since moving Ian felt that familiar “my life is fucked up” feeling.

“He should be fine then, but if he falls asleep check him every few hours. Now, does he have any bruises around his nose or eyes?”

“Not around his nose, but his right eye is swollen and bruised,” he told her.

“That’s probably not related to his nose, they must have just managed to land a blow towards his eye socket. I’d say check his nose after the swelling goes down, that’s the only way you’ll be able to know if it’s broken for sure.”

That gave Ian something to think about. Was Mickey planning on being here that long?  

“Ian?” Veronica said, trying to get his attention.

He cleared his throat, “He has some cuts on his chest, and his breathing is off.”

“Deep gasping breathes? Or shallow ones?” she asked.

“Uh, shallow I guess. Slow, like it hurts to breathe.”

“Can you see if he has any bruises around his torso?”

“Uh, one second,” he placed the phone down on the couch cushion and attempted to shimmy Mickey’s shirt up.

The motion only caused the boy to groan, attempting to shy away and hissing in pain for it. Ian murmured apologizes under his breath, and tried more gently to move the shirt upwards.

Ian picked up the phone when he got a good look of Mickey’s torso, having pulled the shirt back over his stomach.

“It’s pretty bruised too, I think someone might have been kicking him,” he wasn’t skilled in the identification of one bruise over another, it all just looked painful and horrible to Ian’s eyes. How anyone could see and treat this for a living was beyond him.

“He might have a broken rib or two, but they could just be bruised. Since you can’t really splint ribs like a normal break, whether they’re broken or not he’ll have to live with them until they heal. My guess is they’re probably bruised, but since I can’t be certain, if he’s still having problems breathing, or it starts hurting worse, you take him to the hospital, okay?”

“Okay,” Ian echoed, wondering how, and when, in the world he became so entwined in this other boy’s life.

“Anything else?” She asked, sounding tired, and Ian felt guilty for waking her.

“No, I mean. Well, I noticed him limping but I’m sure that’s nothing too horrible, right?”

“He could have a pulled muscle from god knows what, or a sprained ankle. Something _could_ be broken, but just monitor it later. If anything bruised and swollen, and doesn’t get better to walk on in a few days, again I’d probably talk him into seeing a doctor.”

“Thanks, V,” he told her, and hoped his appreciation reached her over the phone. He didn’t do well with stuff like this. He’d figured with the two times he’d seen Mickey shot, and his own countless scrapes and bruises he’d be more prepared. He found it never really got any better to deal with.

“Just please call me or Fi if there’s ever a problem, kiddo,” she told him, “I know you want to live out there and make something for yourself, and I’m proud of you for it, but you don’t have to do it completely alone.”

He nodded, and realizing she couldn’t see that over the phone, “Thanks again, V. For everything.”

“You’re welcome. Stay safe, okay, and let me know how your friend’s doing.”

“I will,” he promised her.

“Okay, night baby,” she said and with a click the line went dead.

He snapped his phone shut with finality. He was in this by himself, here and now, no matter who he called.

Mickey Milkovich, once again, was his problem to face.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, looooong wait! I am sorry, insert the excuse of life and such getting in the way. More is yet to come and with a much shorter wait.
> 
> Many thanks to the kudos and comments! <3

Ian crept his way soundlessly into the kitchen to get himself some breakfast.

Last night after his call to V he’d gotten Mickey as comfortable as possible and after realizing he wasn’t going to get any answers from the passed out man on his couch, went back to bed.

Or had tried too, anyway. He supposed effort counted for something. Seeing Mickey again had caused everything to rush back like a tidal wave.

There had just been too many thoughts running around in his head and feelings in his heart engulfing him every time he’d closed his eyes.

Like why the person who’d _left Southside_ most likely to escape everyone and everything from it, come back to the one person he’d been so sure on pushing aside? What did it mean that Mickey came to _him_ , out of any one of his own family members?

Ian found himself hoping, late into the night, that maybe this had meant Mickey was ready for-

 _No,_ Ian thought adamantly, _it doesn’t change a thing._

He tip toed quietly around the kitchen, trying not to wake Mickey. He wasn’t sure if it was out of courtesy, or cowardice. He didn’t have a clue what he wanted to say to Mickey at this point. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to _talk_ at all. The image of seeing his ex-whatever-he-was lying on his couch gave him desires Ian thought he’d long since pushed to the back of his mind.

It also brought the reminder that he had _two_ problems to deal with.

He’d have to talk to Dylan eventually, about what they wanted to do. He was sick and tired of being someone’s quick fuck in the dark. He was ready for a relationship, an open and committed one, where instead of fights and lonely nights they brought out the best in each other.

He turned back around to make his morning shake. Staring at Mickey all morning wasn’t going to help him any.

After he’d packed himself a decent lunch, he shoved it in his duffel bag to take to work and placed it by the front door.

Mickey still hadn’t woken up and, although he wasn’t sure if he’d even see him when he got home, when he did manage to find himself in reality once more he was going to hurt like a motherfucker. Ian grabbed the extra strength pain pills he kept in the bathroom and placed them on the floor by Mickey’s dangling hand.

Leaving a note just seemed… _gay_ , Ian’s mind supplied, and he didn’t know what he’d say if he left one anyway.

Help yourself? Hope you feel better? Um, what the hell are you doing here?

None of those seemed right, anyway.

He’d just wait to see if Mickey was even around when he got back from work. Maybe, like always, Ian was just a pit stop on Mickey’s quest against the world, a reprieve from the monotony of his ruffian ways.

Ian walked back over to the door, toeing on his shoes, slipping on his thick hoodie and shouldering his duffle. He hesitated in the doorway, glancing back at Mickey one last time before walking out the door.

He had a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach, and for once Ian wasn’t sure what it meant.

+++

He dialed Mandy’s number and waited. He was on lunch break at work, and in between bites he was trying to get to the bottom of things.

Like how exactly Mickey knew where Ian was, and why he’d wondered into Pittsburg to begin with.

“ _-the fuck¸Ian,”_ she growled, voice deep with sleep, “this better be fucking important.”

“It’s twelve thirty, Mandy,” he laughed, “why the fuck are you still sleeping?”

“Because some of us don’t have awesome jobs with awesome hours, and I’m stuck working a shitty night shift at some shitty grocery store.” Her voice sounded bitter, and pissed, and a stab went through Ian’s heart at the fact she couldn’t be here with him.

“Well, I’m sorry for waking you up,” he apologized.

She yawned loudly in his ear in retaliation, “so what the fuck do you want anyway?”

“Um, to say _hi_ , for one and also," Ian looked around the deserted lunch room, voice quiet but determined as he continuted, "maybe to ask why the fuck Mickey showed up looking half dead on my fucking _doorstep_ in the middle of the night last night?” He couldn’t quite stop the accusation from creeping into his voice. There really was no other way he’d have found out. As if Mickey would ever ask anyone in Ian’s family, that was something to laugh at.

He heard a few springs creak, and he could imagine her leaning up against the back wall of her bed. Right where they’d written “Mandy+Ian forever”, or rather _she_ had.

“Is he okay?” she asked, sounding worried, and he realized she probably hadn’t seen her brother since his disappearing act so long ago.

Ian sighed. _This bullshit always finds us Gallagher’s._

“I think he’s fine, he’s a bit bruised up, but I’m pretty sure he’ll live.” Most likely.

He heard her sigh quietly in relief, and felt bad for not considering how she’d react to being told her brother was hurt. Sometimes Ian just didn’t think.

“He called a couple weeks ago, wanted to know how everything was going at home,” she said vaguely.

“Okay...” Ian paused, waiting for her to continue.

“He may have asked some questions,” she hesitated, “and I may have given him a few answers.”

“What _kind_ of questions?”

“He just wanted to know how I was doing, how graduated life was going,” she said, “he asked what I’d been up to, and I told him nothing, that Southside was pretty lonely now that you were gone.”

“That doesn’t explain how he found me, Mandy.”

“Okay, look, I didn’t know you were pulling some mysterious get away plan from him. I thought this was just about leaving Southside, so when he asked where you’d gone I told him Pittsburgh, alright?” she said, sounding defensive.

“It’s not like you told me to keep it a secret,” she reminded him, and she was right, he hadn’t. Not in a million years would he think Mickey would even care where he’d gone. Mickey had left _first._

“I know,” Ian rubbed a hand over his eyes, “I didn’t think he’d even want to know where I was, let alone show up.”

“What does it even matter, after everything you guys _were_ friends weren’t you?” she asked him.

“Yeah,” He guessed? Were they? Had they been friends outside of fucking? He wasn’t sure, actually.

“So maybe he just needs a friend, Ian, it’s not like he’s been home to see any of us,” and wow, he felt her bitterness straight through the phone.

“I know,” he said softly. It wasn’t that he hadn’t missed Mickey, because he _had_. That was the whole fucking problem. While Ian was trying to get over him, Mickey always kept popping up to ruin all the progress he made. It was like he couldn’t catch a break.

“Tell him he can come home, Ian, and if he doesn’t,” she pleaded, “just take care of him? He probably got his ass into trouble. I know I use to say he deserved it but, he really doesn’t _always_.”

“I’ll try my best to reason with him, but you know how he is, Mandy,” _One hell of a hard ass, in both respects_.

“I know,” she agreed, “I just worry about him.”

“I know you do,” and he really did. The first thing you learn in Southside is that no matter what, family is _family._ Even after everything Terry had done they’d still loved, feared and followed him. Ian even cared about Frank, and he technically wasn’t his father. You don’t abandon family, not when you have nobody else.

“I miss you,” he told her, changing subjects, “How are you, really?”

“I miss you too, even though you left me, asshole,” she teased, “and I guess its okay. I work, mostly. I don’t want to be here forever, and if I have to save up to get away from here that’s what I gotta do.”

“Good for you, Mandy,” and he meant it. He wasn’t sure her plan to hitch a ride with Lip to MIT was going to do her any favors. Lip wasn’t the kind of person to just forget your shortcomings, especially one like running someone over. He didn’t want her wasting her life making it up to Lip, when he knew for a fact Lip would never truly forgive her for it. For all Mandy was a Milkovich, and had done unspeakable things, Ian knew she deserved to be happy at heart.

They talked for a little while longer, before Ian glanced up and realized he’d used up most of his lunch break up. It made him miss the fact he couldn’t just walk down a few blocks to see her, and now he could barely get enough cell reception (or time, at that) to give her a proper call.

“I gotta go, lunch breaks over,” he regretfully informed her and, throwing out his trash and packing up his lunch, made his way back to his locker.

“Alright,” she said, “I better just fucking get up now, since I won’t be getting back to sleep anytime soon.” He rolled his eyes; Mandy could guilt him for years about the smallest shit.

“Yeah, yeah, at least you got to talk to me.”

Ian wedged the phone between his ear and shoulder as he twisted the combo into his lock.

“Yes, my day has been brightened by hearing your lovely voice,” she agreed sarcastically.

Ian shoved his lunchbox back into his locker, slamming the door and clicking his lock back in place.

“Don’t forget to keep me updated on my asshole brother, okay?” she said reminded him tentatively, as if she was asking Ian something he might refuse her.

“Of course, Mandy, you know I will.”

After sharing goodbyes Ian hung up and slid his phone in the pocket of his gym shorts.

Ian rested his back agaisnt the cool locker for a brief moment.

He still had the rest of the day to go before he even knew if he’d be _seeing_ Mickey by the end of the night, let alone know how he was doing.

Ian shoved it all to the back of his mind, he had a job to do and best not do it distracted.

+++

Because all things come in threes, or dozens if you’re a Gallagher, Dylan accosted Ian right as he was on his way home from his shift.

It was a dark chilly night, the lamps buzzing above their heads struggling to provide enough light. He glanced up, but the sky was endlessly black. He missed seeing the stars back home. For as packed as Southside had been they’d at least had beautiful nights. Even if you had to spend them safely indoors.

Dylan pushed off from where he was leaning against the brick wall of the Gym. He was wearing what he always wore when he wasn’t in gym gear, jeans and a hat over his short blonde hair, with a thick hoodie to block the chill. It was pulled up over his hat, to protect his ears, and Ian wondered how long he’d been waiting outside for him.

“Hey,” Dylan said, following in stride with Ian as they took his usual route back home. Ian wanted to take Dylan’s hand in his, because he’d never had anyone he could do that with. His gaze shifted sideways, but Dylan had his hands stuffed deep in his pockets.

They continued on for a block in silence, Ian not really sure what he wanted to say. Wouldn’t you normally be asking your significant other how their day had been?

Ian opened his mouth to fill the silence, but Dylan beat him to it.

“So, are we just going to ignore each other then?” He asked casually, a bit of an edge in his voice, directing it to the space in front of him, steadily not looking in Ian’s direction.

Ian’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“No? I mean, I wasn’t trying to ignore you. It’s just been a long day.” It really had been. They had a dozen new registers today alone, which meant paperwork and tours of the gym, and along with that he’d had two classes back to back earlier in the day. 

He barely got any sleep last night, what with checking on Mickey and his own thoughts keeping him awake. He felt exhausted.

“Yeah? I threw you a couple texts, but I figured you were too busy with work to answer.”  Ian heard what he meant in the sentence, like maybe Ian just hadn’t wanted to take the time to respond.

In truth, he had heard his phone buzz a couple of times but between running the desk, helping clients and trying to keep everything running smoothly, he just hadn’t had the time to check. By the time his shift had ended he’d just stuffed his phone in his bag and called it a day.

Ian wasn’t use to someone wanting to get a hold of him, for reasons like just wanting to know what he was up too, or how his day was going. He’d never used his phone much for that in the past.

Ian fiddled with the drawstring of his hoodie. He guessed maybe it wasn’t just Dylan who was new to all this stuff. It wasn’t like he’d had a regular relationship with a guy, either.

“I didn’t mean to ignore them, I just didn’t have time,” and Ian hoped he sounded sincere, because it was the truth. He didn’t want to blow Dylan off, he knew how that felt all too well.

“Uh, it’s okay,” Dylan said, sounding awkward, “I mean, I’m not gonna nag you like some chick about it. It’s just, with yesterday and everything,” he shrugged, “I didn’t want you to be pissed off.”

Ian scratched at his eyebrow, feeling like they were heading down a conversation that couldn’t end well.

They passed a homeless man sleeping on the curb, and Ian shifted closer to Dylan so as not to step on him. He never treated people who were less fortunate unkindly, for all he knew they were someone’s greedy alcoholic father.

 Dylan’s arm wrapped around Ian’s shoulders, and even with being almost the same height, it felt comfortable.

Ian didn’t want to smile like a fool, so he just hunched down deeper into his hoodie and leaned in closer.

“I’m not pissed, I just-” Ian felt like he owed some explanation.

“I wasn’t out in Chicago,” Ian explained to Dylan for what seemed like the hundredth time, “and neither were my… boyfriends, at the time. So, we were always keeping secrets. No dates, no friends, no family time together.”

Dylan stayed silent, but Ian could tell he was listening.

“Finally, someone figured us out and the result was-“ Ian took a shaky breath, this part he'd never mentioned to Dylan. He never wanted to talk about it. Every time he thought back to that day he wondered what he could have done differently, “-it went badly.”

Ian stopped walking. They were on his street, just a few doors down from the front door of the apartment complex and he knew Dylan would want to come up. He didn’t want his future meeting his past yet.

“I don’t ever want to be someone’s dirty secret again,” Ian continued, “because it only ever ends badly, in my experience.”

Dylan’s arm slid off his shoulders and nudged him back along the closest building. They weren’t exactly in plain view, but the lamps lining the street barely gave off much of a glow. Cloaked in the shadows, it provided them with enough privacy to continue. Ian may not want secrets but he wasn’t stupid.

“I don’t want you to be my secret,” Dylan told him, breath coming out in white billows along Ian’s cheek, “and I wouldn’t let something like that happen to us.”

No one _let_ it happen, Ian wanted to say, it just did. It hadn’t been either of their faults, and Ian knew that deep down. He wondered if Mickey felt the same way. Probably not.

“I’m not asking us to wear rainbow flags in public,” Ian explained instead, “but it would be nice, for once, to have someone who knows about us other than _us._ ” And that was it. Ian was tired of his relationships never extending to anyone else. No one saying “how long have you been together?” or “Hey, why don’t you two stop by.” There was more to a relationship than just sex. Ian had had enough sex. It was everything else he longed for.

“I’m working on it,” Dylan promised, leaning closer. His hand was braced next to Ian’s head, causing him to loom over Ian. It felt strange, Ian decided. He’d always been the dominate one in his relationships, and it felt weird to be on the other side. Not bad, just…different.

“That’s all I’m asking,” Ian’s reply brushed against Dylan’s lips.

Dylan captured his lips swiftly, and Ian leaned forward, eyes falling shut. Dylan, Ian would admit, was a great kisser. He was thorough, and sweet, but not afraid to get a bit dirty. Ian’s hands, always aching for something to do, came to clench at the fabric of Dylan’s hoodie.

Dylan’s hand, the one not braced along the wall, came up to Ian’s collarbone, thumb pressing just alongside his neck. He had this tell, Ian had learned, when he wanted more than just a quick kiss.

Ian’s lips parted, and tilting his head slightly gave him the right advantage to take over the kiss. He’d learned a trick or two of his own, and biting just enough along Dylan’s bottom lip drew a quiet groan from the other man.

Ian’s left hand escaped the material it had been grasping and made its way down to the front of Dylan’s jeans, pressing just along the seam. Dylan moaned quietly, breaking the kiss to lean his head against Ian’s temple. Ian kept his hand steady, pressing along the bulge in Dylan’s pants.

Dylan’s hips rocked short thrusts against his hand, and Ian wanted to press closer, meet Dylan’s hips with his own. He wouldn’t, though. Seeing people having sex in the middle of the night wasn’t unusual around here, but Ian didn’t feel like dry humping in the middle of a dark street was something he wanted to check off his list yet.

“Let’s go up,” Dylan breathed, warm ghosts of air along Ian’s neck caused a shiver to travel down along his spine.

 _Yeah_ , Ian thought, brain addled with desire, _maybe tonight we’ll finally-_

Ian’s hand stilled as he remember exactly _why_ they couldn’t go up in the first place.

Mickey could still be up there, knocked out or conscious, he wasn’t sure which was worse. Either way, he wasn’t quite ready for them to meet, if ever, and he felt obligated to take care of Mickey in some way. He’d come to Ian, after all, and it felt wrong to lead someone up to have sex when his ex- his friend- his whatever was lying on the couch bruised and broken.

Ian groaned, tilting his head back against the wall. It only invited Dylan to explore the exposed flesh, biting down gently with teeth before soothing it away with sucking kisses. Dylan had a way of stealthily leaving evidence of their endeavors; usually on his neck, but sometimes the jut of a collarbone, or the slope of his chest.

“No, Dylan, wait,” Ian said, feeling immediately guilty for letting it get this far. He moved his hand up to Dylan’s chest, pressing gently to push him away.

Dylan grabbed that hand, and tugged, “Yeah, babe, let’s go up, I don’t exactly want some homeless guy joining in tonight,” he laughed.

Dylan took a step but Ian resisted, and he turned to look back at him with a look of confusion.

Ian ran a hand through his short red hair, and gave a frustrated sigh. _Dammit, Mickey._

“We can’t go up tonight,” he explained apologetically, “I have a friend upstairs.”

“O-kay,” Dylan said slowly, “so we’ll be quiet.” He took another step towards the apartment but Ian’s hand on his arm stopped him.

“No, he’s-“ Ian paused, not knowing exactly what to say, “he’s an old friend from Southside, and he’s gotten into some trouble. He’s a bit busted up, and I just- it wouldn’t feel right, ya know?”

Dylan stared at him for a moment, and Ian shifted under his gaze. He couldn’t read Dylan’s expression. Was he Jealous? Angry? Hurt? They’d know each other for more than a handful of months, but not well enough, Ian supposed, for him to understand the other man that much.

Finally, Dylan let out a huff, “Fine. I gotta get up early tomorrow, anyway. A couple of friends and I are going to the races.”

Ian bit back every scathing reply he wanted to say. Like, _were you even going to tell me? Invite me?_

Of course not. _Not yet._ Ian absolutely did not roll his eyes.

Instead, tonight it worked in his favor. He’d have a day or so to get this Mickey situation settled, and Dylan would be off having fun with his bros. Probably talking about chicks and fucking.

Ian shoved that thought aside quickly. Maybe he was the one with the jealousy issue.

“Well,” Ian said, feeling uncomfortable now, “have fun.”

Dylan looked like he wanted to say something, maybe like how he _wanted_ to invite Ian but it just wasn’t the right time. Or how he was going to talk to his friends _soon_.

 Ian didn’t want to hear it.

He kissed Dylan on the lips, hard and forceful, like making a point. It was nothing like the kisses they’d shared a minute ago. He wrapped one hand around the back of Dylan’s neck, pulling him closer until their fronts were pressed flush together. Dylan parted his lips, letting Ian take the kiss deeper, and Ian licked at the offered bottom lip, nipping roughly at the plush skin.

They parted, skin warm in the cool air, breathe coming out in quick puffs. It didn’t exactly help, Ian realized. Now he really wanted to say fuck it and take him upstairs.

“I’ll see you in a few days,” Ian said as he left, walking backwards towards his apartment. He saw Dylan rub at his bottom lip, and heat flared in Ian’s stomach once again.

Ian ignored his urge to turn around and invite the other man upstairs.

He pushed open the heavy door to the complex, the radiator working hard to heat the lobby. Ian sighed, climbing the stairs slowly to give himself time to think.

He wasn’t exactly sure how to confront what, who rather, was behind his apartment door. Since he started his job this was the first time Ian wasn’t exactly looking forward to coming home after a long day of work.

 _I’ll figure it out_ , _it’ll be_ okay, he mentally coached himself with every step.

He reached the landing of his apartment and told himself one last time,

_I won’t give in this time._

+++

 

Ian fished his keys out but found himself hesitating before sliding them in and turning the lock. Something in him felt guilty.

Like when he’d been found by Mickey under the bleachers with that random loud-as-fuck kid, and all he could get out was a disbelieving “Mickey?” before the guilt washed over him. Or when he’d admitted to Ned that he’d _kind of_ had a boyfriend.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t be faithful. If Mickey had ever given him the chance to make something more out of their situation he probably would have been. Completely. He’d just always felt either left behind, used, or lonely.

When they were by themselves it was never a problem. They were usually occupied having sex, or lounging in between those times, drinking beer. It was when they would work together and someone would walk in, and suddenly Mickey acted like he hardly knew Ian. Or the many times he got himself locked up in Juvie just to deny who he was- who he was _with Ian_.

It was all those things that led Ian to other people. Even now, when they weren’t even together, hadn’t even seen each other in months, Ian found himself feeling the same amount of shame and guilt. They’d never been anything more to each other than what Mickey always reminded him; a good fuck. That didn’t help Ian from feeling what he felt.

Finally, telling himself he was being ridiculous, he slid the key and turned the lock to his apartment.

He was nothing to Mickey anymore. Not even a fuck.

There was no reason for Ian to feel bad that he had a boyfriend, someone he wanted to share his time with, just because he wasn’t Mickey. Mickey had never wanted that with him anyway.

Opening the door he found that, surprisingly, the apartment wasn’t dark.

Most of the overhead lights were on, and upon dropping his gym gear and walking further in to investigate, he could smell (and see) the faint hint of smoke wafting in the stale air of his apartment.

Ian walked further down the narrow hallway to the living room and saw Mickey, now seemingly clean and in fresh clothes, lounging on the couch with a lit cigarette in hand.

Ian stopped, mostly in the shock that he hadn’t skipped town yet, but also at the _sight_ of Mickey. If anything, now in full light, he looked worse than last night. With the blood cleaned up, and the bruises given time to heal themselves, he looked like he’d gone through the wringer.

His face looked tender and swollen, his good eye clear but the other badly bruised shut. His lip looked ruby red, like Mickey had been worrying the split in it a good bit. He had on a wife beater, and while it concealed his chest, it did nothing to hide the many abrasions, cuts and welts on his upper arms. Ian couldn’t even fully appreciate how filled out Mickey looked since he last saw him; it just made him wince to look over all the slowly healing wounds.

“Uh, hey,” Ian cleared his throat awkwardly, it felt stuffy in the apartment ( _probably from all the fucking smoke,_ he thought) and it came out deeper than he intended.

Mickey turned his head, needing to with his bad eye blocking a good chunk of his vision, and let the smoke he’d inhaled curl out over his lips.

“Hey, firecrotch,” he greeted casually, and Ian couldn’t quite stamp down the anger the old nickname brought with it. Who was Mickey to act all nonchalant, acting like nothing had changed between them, like he had any right to be in Ian’s space so freely?

That wasn’t the only thing bothering him though.

He stalked up to Mickey, and when he came just close enough to shawdow the other boy, he ignored Mickey’s wince and plucked the cigarette out of his mouth.

Mickey’s eyes, well, his good eye, met his and for a moment Ian felt what he’d felt so long ago in Mickey’s bedroom back in Chicago.

Ian turned, walking towards the kitchen, trying to shake off the familiar feeling that buzzed over his skin.

“If you wanted a smoke, all you had to do was ask,” Mickey’s amused voice reached him, sounding a bit cautious and slurred around his busted lips but no less haughty.

Ian glanced back at Mickey, who was relaxed enough to have one arm stretched out along the back of the couch. It had probably taken an effort to make himself comfortable, but if he was in pain he hardly showed it. It was the fact he looked comfortable, like he belonged here, even if a part of Ian liked the sight, that fueled his anger and gave Ian the balls to do what he did next.

He turned on the faucet, and placed the cherry of the burning cigarette directly under it.

“What the hell, Gallagher!?” Mickey’s raised voice would have once made him feel trepidation, but now it made him feel empowered.

Ian threw the butt in the garbage and made his way back into the living room to stand in front of Mickey.

“Cigarettes aren’t fucking cheap, ya know, and that was my last fucking one!” He scowled, but it only caused him to wince and lean back into the couch cushions.

Ian took a breath, crossing his arms, and glancing at Mickey with an unaffected look.

“Look, Mickey, I don’t know how you got here or what the hell happened to you but this is _my_ apartment and I don’t smoke in here. Actually, I don’t smoke at all anymore.”

Mickey pursed his lips, looking away, a rough breath escaping through his nose. Ian couldn’t help the twitch at the corner of his lips. That was as close to a pout Mickey would ever give.

In the heat of the moment Ian made a split second decision. He wondered if he’d come to regret it.

“If you need a place to stay for a bit,” Ian told him, “you’re welcome here. I don’t have a spare bedroom but the couch is all yours. I don’t know how bad you’re busted up, but we have a clinic not far from here.”

At his offer Mickey glanced his way, the smallest look of relief crossing over his features. He didn’t look happy at being told what to do, but he seemed grateful, as much as Mickey could, to have a place to stay. _Or hide,_ Ian guessed.

“I’m fucking sweaty as shit from work, so I’m gonna take a shower. If you haven’t already, I got food and beer in the fridge,” Ian headed for the shower and looking back at Mickey one last time, who was still glancing at the spot Ian had left, he added, “take what you want.”

Ian headed to his bedroom first, to grab some clean clothes before grabbing a towel and heading to take a long hot shower. It wasn’t exactly what he needed at the moment, but it would help.

+++

Ian stepped out of the bathroom feeling ten times better. It helped unwind his muscles and the tight feeling in his stomach he'd aquired since he’d walked in to see Mickey making himself at home on his couch. He still wasn’t sure what he was going to do with him practically living with in the apartment, if he chose to, but he wasn’t about to let him fend for himself in the condition he was in, especially since Ian had no idea _why_ he was in the condition he was in. You don’t just turn your back to people you-

Ian threw his dirty clothes in the hamper harder than intended.

 Mickey was like poison. You get exposed to it and it just starts fucking with your system.

Ian yawned, scrubbing a hand through his short damp hair, and decided he should probably take some blankets and pillows out to Mickey. The couch, while old and broken in, wasn’t exactly the comfiest thing in the world, and the ancient radiator didn’t always heat the huge space of the living room well. Ian had figured that out pretty quickly.

Hands full with a few spare blankets (found at the local thrift shops, he’d nabbed the ones with the fewest holes) and a pillow, he walked out to find Mickey in the exact same spot, but this time a couple bites from finishing up a sandwich.

It seemed like a slow going process.  

Ian could sympathize. Taking a bite pulled at your lips, which reopened the wound there, and it probably hurt worst to swallow because of his already aching ribs. He had an open beer can in the other hand, and on the floor next to his feet the pain pill container was tipped sideways. Like it’d been opened, used, and forgotten until the next time the pain got intense.

Ian set the blankets down besides Mickey, not knowing what to say.

Ian twisted his lips in thought. Hospitality wasn’t exactly his thing. They’d rarely had visitors outside of V, or Frank, and neither of them required a whole lot of fuss when they stayed over. Mickey wouldn’t appreciate it anyway, Ian supposed.

Ian turned, deciding against saying anything that might risk pissing off Mickey, or worse, embarrassing himself, and grabbed a water bottle from the fridge.

“Uh, I’m heading to bed,” he informed Mickey, who had finished up the sandwich and was looking at Ian with an unreadable look. Mostly unreadable, Ian thought, because of how fucked up his face was.

“If you don’t want the overhead light on, the lamp over there works too,” Ian pointed with his water bottle, but Mickey barely glanced over, “I have to work tomorrow so…” he paused. Mickey, for all his fucking face must be hurting, managed to raise an eyebrow.

Ian scowled, “G’night,” he forced out, before making his way back to his bedroom.

Just as he was about to close his bedroom door, and forget his life for a little while, when a gruff, “Night, Gallagher,” came from the living room.

The door closed on the words with a soft click. Ian rubbed a hand over his eyes, not knowing exactly what game Mickey was playing here. He’d barely said anything to Ian, didn’t tell him what he was planning on doing, if he was planning on _staying,_ and he was being, what Ian would call, _nice_. Not that he’d always been a dick to Ian, not always, but it wasn’t what Ian had prepared himself for.

They hadn’t exactly last seen each other on good terms.

Ian clicked off the light, and made his way over to his bed. All he needed was a good deep sleep, and vowed that tomorrow he’d get the answers he’d been looking for.

Ian set his water bottle on his side table and curled into his thick comforter.

A thin line of light shown from under his door.

Suddenly the only thing Ian could think about was the short distance between them, and yet how far it really seemed, until sleep succumbed him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhh. there are no excuses! well, there are plenty of excuses. life. work. holidays. blahblahblah! but honestly, I just haven't had the time to write! so even if I know which direction i want to go if i don't write it down it gets me no where! so, i wrote the rest of this chapter today and I hope you all enjoy (:
> 
> The movie referred to in this chapter is the one mickey and ian watched together, Under Siege. If I'm wrong just let me know, but I'm pretty sure that's the one!
> 
> Once again, all mistakes are my own but if you catch any I'd love for you to point them out!
> 
> Enjoy it lovies, and comment if you like!!

The next morning went a lot like the previous one.

Heavy eyed, Ian woke before the sun did to get dressed and ready for work. He crept out into the kitchen, where Mickey was still fast asleep, this time snoring obnoxiously, on the couch.

Ian took out what he needed to pack his lunch, and made sure not to cause too much noise. Something in him wanted to slam the refrigerator door, bang his cabinets, shuffle and make noise, but he knew it was the part of him that wondered if Mickey would have done the same for him. Take him in no questions (well, yet) asked, give him a place to sleep, and tip toe around _Ian_.

To be honest? It was hard to imagine.

Ian continued to put his lunch together quietly. He felt barely awake; he’d never really been much of a morning person. He woke up the same way he always had, outwardly looking ready to face the day but inwardly dead tired and wishing he could crawl back into bed.

He could sympathize with Fiona, who always made all their lunches in the morning _after_ making their breakfast even though she’d barely gotten her two eyes open. Ian supposed he could just make his lunches the night before, but he was always too tired when he got home, and maybe a part of him was use to the hustle and bustle of the mornings in the Gallagher house.

He could admit he missed the morning routine at home, but now he had his own.

He missed more than just that, though, but Ian tried not to think of it much. The distance between him and them, the solitude, of the fact that while he was getting ready on his own, Fiona was wrestling the kids awake, trying to find them something to eat and get them ready for school at the same time.

It made his heart clench harder at the fact that he really didn’t get to hear from them as much as he’d liked.

He’d sent multiple letters to Debbie so far, and she’d sent him over a dozen since he’d left. Fiona tried to call at least once a week, if not two or three, mostly to see how he’d been holding up, if he needed anything, if he wanted to come back home. Never pushing, just asking, reminding him he’d always be welcome home, to come back if he needed to.

He appreciated it more than she knew, and probably more than he let her know, too.

Fiona gets the kids on the phone to talk to him when she can.  To say hello to Carl, Debbie and baby Liam, who had perfected more words since he’d been gone and become quite the conversationalist on the phone. Lip, well, Ian couldn’t always catch him but Lip managed to throw him a few texts every couple days, so Ian couldn’t find it in him to be too upset.

Ian finished up what he was doing, conscious of the sleeping body just a few feet away. He snatched an apple off the counter. It’d be his quick morning breakfast while he walked to work.

Collecting his lunch, Ian walked over to where he deposited his gym bag the night before. He’d packed a couple sets of clothes in the other day, just in case he’d ever need them if he was on a time crunch. It saved time, not having to change out his gym bag every morning, and by the end of the week he just shuffled down to the basement, laundry basket and gym bag in tow, and shoved it all into the washer and dryers lined up along the far side of the wall. He’d usually end up sitting on the dryer, pretending he was back in the kitchen at home, hearing Fiona reprimand someone or another for something that usually ended up in her just exasperatedly rolling her eyes.

It wouldn’t ever be home, but Ian was getting use to it.

Ian grabbed his jacket from the rack by the door and shrugged it on. It’d gotten pretty cold in Pittsburgh, so he usually bundled himself up in warm layers and changed when he got to the gym. At first when he’d arrived it’d been warmer. He’d geared up in his tank and shorts and jogged to work, but now he was left no choice but to layer up and hunch over himself, hands deep in his pockets to fight the chill.

Jacket zipped and bags slung securely over his shoulder Ian found himself hesitating at the doorway, hand stuck on the doorknob. Ian’s glance shifted back to Mickey, who still looked like death warmed over.

Fast asleep on his back, Mickey was completely and blissfully unaware of the turmoil his presence brought Ian. Ian couldn’t imagine why Mickey had chosen to show up on his doorstep, to ask him for help, to let him see him at his most vulnerable when he constantly tried to prove to Ian that he wasn’t interested or invested in anything more than fucking.

Sure, it wasn’t like Ian was well versed in beaten-up ex lovers who happened to stumble upon his doorstep, but he was pretty positive they didn’t come back to the person they’d managed to convince they cared least about.

But Mickey _had_ chosen to come back to him.

It spurred a hope in Ian he hadn’t felt since before that day with Mickey’s dad. Before the wedding, before-

Ian’s hand clenched around the doorknob almost painfully. Hadn’t Ian given up hoping? He sure had given up enough to move 400 miles away. To make sure nothing could hold him back anymore.

What did someone do when the one thing you’d tried to move on from stumbled its way back into your life? Literally.

Ian’s gaze softened slightly when Mickey shifted in his sleep, causing a sound of distress to hiss through his clenched teeth.

Whatever Mickey needed Ian promised to himself he’d help him with it, but beyond that he wouldn’t let himself hope anymore. Not again.

With that thought, Ian twisted the knob and made his way out closing his front door with a soft sound. Mickey was a desire, a wish, a dream you had that never become reality, but you couldn’t give up in spite of its fruitlessness.

He had someone, he reminded himself with each step downward to the lobby. He was working on _that_ relationship, and Ian wasn’t even sure he and Mickey had a relationship left to rectify, anyway.

Ian wasn’t exactly happy, yet, but he was content, for now, with where he was at in life. That’s all he ever wanted.

 _Dreams are for sleeping, anyway,_ Ian thought cynically, mindful of the one particular step that always managed to trip him on his way to work.

+++

Ian rolled his shoulders, letting a satisfied sigh escape at how much relief the stretch brought him.

It’d been a terrifyingly busy day. One of the scheduled employee’s had called in with the flu, and with the colder weather outside the gym was slowly becoming the hot spot to be at. Nobody wanted to do their daily exercise outside; teeth shivering and breathe just barely-there white. The gym was warm, and offered a wide range of equipment and space. That seemed to be enough to get people off the streets and flexing inside.

Ian was slowly learning why his boss had given him a sly grin when he’d started to see the leaves fall on the trees.

“Cold’s coming,” he’d said gruffly one afternoon, smile hiding behind his gray mustache. Alfred was someone who’d picked up a weight and never stopped, or at least that’s what he’d told Ian. At 57 he could probably keep up with, if not out run, Ian and lifted enough to make Ian do a double take the first time he’d seen him do it.

Ian had glanced out one of the wide bay windows and shrugged, “I’m use to it. Chicago was hell in winter.”

Alfred had just given him a friendly pat on the shoulder, “It’s not you I’m worried about, kid.”

With that, Alfred had wondered off to go do paperwork, fix the equipment, or whatever a man who owned a gym did. Ian had forgotten about it until now. The exchange had come barreling back to him amidst the day’s chaos, and he kind of wanted to curse Alfred out at the shitty vague advice he’d provided Ian with.

Surely this kind of thing deserved a full blown warning. He’d never seen so many bodies crammed into one space before, and he’d gone to multiple gay bars with Lloyd, okay?

Ian managed to get his stuff gathered out of his locker, and his jacket on, but only just. Every muscle in his body protested the movements, and instead of the energy he usually felt after a good work out he felt fatigued.

He hadn’t worked out today; he’d been worked to _death_. Since Ally had called off, and with the influx of people signing up to the gym, Alfred had asked Ian to take an extra hour to teach one of Ally’s classes. That’d left him with three fitness classes in a row, a hurried lunch break, a call up to the front desk to help with new potential registers that’d left him stationed there for _hours_ , and another class after _that_.

To say Ian felt stretched out was an understatement. He exited the locker room with a push that barely opened the door, and he couldn’t help the groan that involuntarily escaped. The door felt unusually heavy today on his strained muscles. Ian tossed up a hand to a regular who liked the privacy of working out at night, ignoring the wince of pain it brought, and with a few “goodnights” to the employees’ manning the front desk, he was outside. _Free._

For a minute Ian found himself frozen outside the gym’s doors. Face tilted up to the dark sky, the crisp cool air felt amazing on his over-heated skin. It reminded him of Chicago and Ian found he could easily forget he was so far away, when the city here easily reminded him so much of home.

At night, leaving work and walking back to a place he knew wouldn’t be filled with the buzz of his family, he sometimes found himself getting melancholy. He thought of what everyone was up too, and if he’d get to see them anytime soon. Maybe he’d be able to go home for Christmas, if he worked out his hours with his boss and saved up a little more. The holidays weren’t too far away, and Ian could probably afford the bus ticket to take him home. He might even be able to make it a surprise.

Feeling a new rush of excitement he hadn’t felt since he arrived in Pittsburgh, Ian finally moved from his stationed spot outside the gym and made his way home.

Ian was always too wise, too knowing, to enjoy the holidays. He’d known early on the strain it put on Fiona, who always tried to find things to buy all of them that didn’t put too much of a dent in the funds. She always did her best to give them a good holiday, probably because they’d never really had a Christmas, not with Frank and Monica running the show.

When Frank and Monica had been together, they’d always taken the money and gotten side tracked, coming back stumbling and laughing yet always empty handed. Those years were the ones that ruined it for Ian; he’d known Santa wasn’t the one leaving a dented golf club or a bag of socks with pairs already stolen from it. It’d been his coked out parents, using the money Fiona had attempted to save up for presents on themselves, and after that the holidays just never really felt like something to celebrate.

It was enough, for Ian, to have his family all together on that day. What made this year any different? Just because he didn’t live there anymore didn’t mean it wasn’t Ian’s obligation to make sure they all were together for Christmas.

Leaving Pittsburgh reminded him of who he’d be leaving behind, and he frowned. Would Dylan be ready to come with Ian by then? Would he want Ian to stay here for the holiday, to spend it together?

Ian figured he’d have to bring it up eventually. Wasn’t being together for the holiday something couples liked to do? Ian knew his family wouldn’t mind if he brought Dylan along, there was no doubt they’d welcome him with open arms, a bit of teasing and a mild interrogation. Then again, it wasn’t him or his family he was worried about. Well, not _completely_ worried about, anyway.

Not wanting to ruin his good mood, even if he was exhausted, he stopped thinking about it. He still had a couple months till he had to figure it out and getting worked up when Dylan wasn’t even around was pointless.

Ian stopped right outside his complex to send Dylan a quick text. He hadn’t gotten to respond to the ones Dylan had sent him; one asking how Ian was, a few describing what they’d been up to, another with only a picture of Dylan holding a red solo cup smiling with the text ‘don’t work too hard’ underneath it.

With a quick ‘woosh’ into the night, his text sent. As he made his way up the steps, he wondered what he’d be doing right now if Dylan had invited him to come along. Would he have made friends with Dylan’s buddies, or would he have felt awkward and out of place? He felt a tinge of anger that he could only wonder and that he couldn’t know for himself.

His hands met the cold brass knob of the complex doors, and a shiver went threw him.

A quick flash of someone else brought his mind back to where he was currently, and for some reason Ian just couldn’t find it in him to be upset that Dylan was gone.

 

+++

To be honest, Ian could admit it felt a bit like déjà vu.

He’d walked in to his apartment to the smell of food and, after hanging up his coat and dropping his gym bag, he went to investigate.

Only to find Mickey bent over the stove, pulling a plate of pizza rolls out of the oven. He winced as he came upright, his hand delicately curving over the side of his ribs. Ribs were always a bitch to heal.

“Hungry?” Ian smirked, making his way into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and pulled out a water bottle, if only to give himself something to do. He tried to focus on anything but Mickey’s face, as if Mickey would take one look at him and just know he was thinking about that last night they spent together.

The metal clanged against the counter as Mickey set the rolls down to cool, “Fuck yeah, you ain’t got no fuckin’ numbers in this joint. Not even a fucking yellow pages? Doesn’t that come complimentary with shitty apartments, anymore? How’s a man suppose to get take out?”

Mickey leaned back against the counter, arms loose at his sides. He looked stiff, and sore. His voice sounded like Mickey always did, confident and defiant, but his posture screamed vulnerability.

Ian rolled his eyes and mimicked Mickey’s stance against the counter, feeling it all too easy to get back into their back and forth banter, “Sorry, you know it’s not like I just moved in here or anything.”

Mickey snorted, “Enough to have a freezer full of shitty snack foods.”

Ian huffed, palming his water back and forth, “I work a lot of hours, and they’re easy to pop in when I don’t feel like making anything that takes effort. You should appreciate it, considering you’re about to eat them.”

There was a beat of silence after that, enough that Ian started to run through things he could possibly bring up that wouldn’t sound forced. Mickey’s gaze stayed on the floor, like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

Ian was just about to open his mouth and say something, anything, to break the silence when Mickey’s voice interrupted him.

“So, you got a job to pay for all this shitty food?” and…that wasn’t what Ian expected to come out of his mouth.

“Uh, a gym not too far from here,” Ian told him, and he knew it sounded more like a question than a statement. Dammit. Smooth, Ian.

Mickey’s gaze flickered sideways, “you like it?”

Ian crossed his protesting arms and settled further back against the counter, “Yeah, when I’m not being run around by crazy maniacs who think they’re in an episode of Biggest Loser.” Ian scratched at his arm, trying to look casual, and not like he was under an interrogation light, “Pay’s well, people are pretty decent, and the view ain’t half bad,” he tried to joke, unnerved by the fact Mickey was asking him about this type of shit. Too much like small talk, and Mikey never was into giving a shit about the details in anyone’s life; not even his own.

Well, unless it involved a job. Details on a job kept the fingers pointed away from you.

Mickey’s hand came up to brush anxiously at his mouth, and Ian knew Mickey enough that it meant there was something he wanted to say but couldn’t.

Ian sighed, “Look Mick, I…have no idea why you’re here, honestly. I meant what I said to you, if you need a place to stay I don’t care what kind of shit you’re in, you can stay here. I’d be nice to know who beat the shit out of you, though.”

Ian couldn’t help but focus on the color marring Mickey’s jaw. The bruises looked worse the more Ian stared at them and, like staring at a light too long, when Ian looked away the image burned across his vision.

Mickey was quick to snap back, “What so you can send them a fuckin’ _thank you_ card?”

Ian’s glare could have pierce through solid steel, but in the face of Mickey it barely made him blink.

“You know that’s not what I meant, so cut that shit out. You looked like you should have been rushed to a hospital, Mick, hell you _still_ do. I just want to know what the fuck happened,” Ian felt the familiar feeling he always got around Mickey; anger, defensiveness, arousal. It was like Mickey pushed all these buttons at the same time, causing Ian to always feel like he was losing control.

Mickey hobbled over to the couch, trying to bend down as gingerly as possible without jostling himself too much. He rooted slowing inside his bag and after a few agonizing minutes pulled out a wad of cash.

Ian narrowed his eyes, but kept silent. He knew interrupting Mickey from whatever he was about to do or say would only cause him to get defensive. Ian wanted answers, sure, but Mickey only gave them up when he was ready. Pissing him off wouldn’t help.

Finally, after watching the other boy extract a couple of hundreds, brought himself to ask, “What are you doing?”

Mickey barely glanced up as he thumped through a few bills, tucking the rest into his back pocket.

He limped back over to Ian, stopping a few feet away from him. Ian’s mind couldn’t help realizing it was the closest they’d been since Ian tried playing nurse on him a day or so ago. A part of him ached to lean forward and capture his lips in his, playfully push him back into the couch just to watch Mickey’s face scrunch in annoyance. But he couldn’t, so instead he glanced down at the cash thrust in his direction and tried to put on his best confused face.

“Don’t act stupid, Gallagher, I know you fuckin’ aren’t, even if you like to act like it,” Mickey muttered, waving the fisted cash at Ian to grab.

“You don’t have to pay to rest here, Mick. Not while you’re trying to fucking heal,” and after everything they’d been through together, did Mickey think him intentionally cruel? Sure, he’d gotten him shot twice, and he felt a deep lingering guilt for what happened with the Russian and Terry, but he’d never tried to hurtMickey on purpose.

He’d always wanted to be a safe place for Mickey, never the opposite.

Mickey kept the money between them, “Just fucking take it, Gallagher.”

“I don’t want your money, Mickey,” he wanted about anything _but._

 _“_ Oh, for fucks sake,” Mickey rolled his eyes, “stop being such a fucking girl.”

Ian shoved past him in annoyance. Some things just don’t fucking change. But when he heard Mickey’s sharp inhale, Ian instantly regretted jostling him.

Ian heard him slap the money on the kitchen counter, and knew it would stay there until he could find a way to sneak it back into Mickey’s bag.

“Just fucking keep it- “ Mickey yelled at his retreating back, “and eat some of these fuckin’ rolls because there about to get cold and taste like ass.”

Ian just continued his way into his bedroom. He needed a good scrub, a change of clothes, and some less infuriating people in his life.

+++

 Ian never knew what people meant when they said they felt like a new person after a shower. He felt cleaner, sure, and refreshed, definitely. But a whole new person? He could only wish.

So, feeling more relaxed than he had going in, Ian emerged from the shower ready to take on anything Mickey was going to throw his way.

He hadn’t expected to see Mickey bent down, fussing with around the television Ian had found discounted at an electronic shop.

Stomach growling Ian made his way over to the sheet of pizza rolls. There was a good chunk gone, but Mickey had been mindful of Ian and left some for him. Ian hid a smile behind a bite of food.

“So, you have absolute shit TV in this joint,” Mickey informed him, not looking up from the pitiful collection of DVD’s Ian had.

Ian shoved another roll into his mouth before answering Mickey.

“Dish is too fucking expensive, and the basic cable up here is shit.”

“What the fuck do you do after work, Gallagher?” Mickey glanced back at him, “If you hadn’t moved so fucking far, I’d have a cousin of mine come and hook you up.”

Ian raised his eyebrows, “I didn’t know a cousin of yours worked for Dish.”

Mickey chuckled, “he doesn’t.”

Yeah, Ian figured as much.

Mickey went back to shuffling through his movies.

 “Death Race, not bad, fucking Titanic what the fuck Gallagher,” he heard Mickey snort, “Transformers, eh,” then as Mickey continued through the others Ian heard him give a small grunt in surprise. Ian saw the familiar cover of the DVD and, not wanting to see Mickey’s expression, turned to busy himself with cleaning the leftover food, ears burning in embarrassment.

It’s not like he’d expected Mickey to ever be rifling through his viewing pleasures, and to be honest? The night they’d shared _before_ everything went to shit had been one of the best night’s Ian’s ever had. He’d seen the movie nestled in the clearance box and before he’d talked himself out of it, stuffed it into the growing pile of movies already in his arms.

He’d completely forgot about it until this moment.

He knew that day had been worse for Mickey than it had for Ian; of course he knew that, but the night before felt so distance from the day Terry had found them. He’d felt…truly _happy_ like he hadn’t before. He hadn’t felt rushed or anxious someone would find them, and for one goddamn night he’d felt like they were _together_ in a way he’d never felt before _._

They’d drank beer, ate pizza rolls until they were cold (because, as Mickey had said, they totally tasted like ass when cold), and made comments about whatever movie they’d been watching at the time. Mickey tucked his frozen ass toes under Ian thighs, and eventually Ian found his way in between Mickey’s, giving him a teasing blowjob until Mickey was shoving them into his bedroom. Their urgency that night had only been to see how many times they could go, not how long until the next costumer walked into the store.

So maybe it wasn’t his favorite movie, but that had been his favorite _night,_ and he didn’t want to forget it anytime soon.

Ian didn’t turn around until he heard the DVD player open and close, and even then he didn’t glance back at the living room. He didn’t want to know what Mickey was watching.

He crept his way back towards his room, “uh, I’m gonna- go into my, uh room. You want the overhead off?”

Mickey was once again seated on the couch, and Ian kept his eyes squarely on his face and not the blue of the TV screen.

“Uh, sure,” Mickey turned to look at him but Ian’s hand flicked the switch down as he moved, plunging his features into shadows. The blue cast of the television bounced of his features, and before Ian retreated into his room, couldn’t help but think how dangerous it made the other boy look.

 _Fucking ridiculous_ , Ian chided himself.

Ian entered his dark room and shuffled his way into the bed. He pulled back the covers and got comfy on his side.

Through the walls he could hear the distant buzz of whatever movie Mickey decided to watch.

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to sleep.

In the quiet of his room his cell phone pinged with an incoming text message.

_i’ll be home tomorrow – c u soon :p_

Ian dropped his cell back on his nightstand and wondered if the emptiness in his bed was just echoing the emptiness in his heart.


End file.
